


dead air

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Radio, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Ghosts, Horror, Hospitals, M/M, Minor Violence, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Radio, Sexual Content, Spooky Nonsense, Suicide mention, a little ooc, but that's ok, etc - Freeform, everybody gets one!, rated m to be safe, the infidelity tag every tomgreg fic gets, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 40,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27148582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Waystar used to own radio stations, a long time ago. Back before video killed the radio star.Tom thought they were out of the business until Logan sends him to Washington, to some tiny town he’s never heard of to evaluate and assess the station’s viability. Run by Logan’s great nephew Tom’s never met, and a couple of strung out Waystar employees, Tom is pretty sure this task will be a cinch. Look it over, shut it down. Ride out the six months— max— on the job. Open and shut.He’s definitely wrong about that.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch & Tom Wambsgans, Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans, Siobhan "Shiv" Roy/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 241
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> dead air: unplanned silence in the stream.
> 
> the night vale/it/supernatural au threatened on tumblr here for your (almost halloween) enjoyment!

The building sat far outside of town. In fact, Tom had almost missed it in the rain and fog, which his shitty rental car windshield wipers couldn’t catch up with. The rain was relentless out here, and he’d already been soaked through twice since his arrival three days ago.

He cursed the rain, and Logan, and the idiots who had gotten him this car as he turned down the muddy road, sending a silent prayer he wouldn’t get stuck in the mud. 

The building was small-- smaller than he had thought. The radio tower jutted out from the back, and he parked next to a run down looking Chevy, bracing himself for the rain. He’d figured out the way to get the open umbrella out before himself, though his shoes were a loss. There seemed to be no way to keep them dry. How did people stay dry up here? Wear rubber shoes all the time? Carry a portable heater? 

Clutching his briefcase to his chest, he dashed to the front door. It looked to be only one story, faded brick sides, and a sagging black roof. A lone salittle dish stuck out, slightly crooked, and the glass of the windows was foggy. There was a warm light though from inside, and he pulled on the door.

It did not open.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he could have sworn he heard the rain pick up. Maybe Logan was trying to drown him. 

He looked around, eyes sliding past the faded and torn flyers advertising a marathon that happened two months ago, and a local production of _Our Town_ set to open in a week. He found the buzzer and jammed the button several times. He had no interest in waiting in the fucking rain for any longer.

He could make out a figure jogging to open the door, though they were indistinguishable in the watery window. The door unlocked and opened. Tom took a small step back.

“Uh, hey,” the man said. He was tall-- taller than Tom even, which was rare, and dressed in jeans and a dark green sweater, vest on top. Tom thought he looked like a tourist on vacation in the mountains, “You must be Tom. Uh come in.”

The man stepped back so Tom could enter and he carefully shook out his umbrella and took off his jacket. It was immediately warmer inside, and he knew he’d dry soon enough. 

Actually the place was sort of cozy. The light was warm and inviting, and the hallway was decorated with information posters about radio and Waystar policies, but also photos of the nearby forests, and more flyers about local events. Extra equipment sat pushed against the wall, microphones and wires peeking out of a beat up looking box. Someone’s rain shoes were left by the door, and several raincoats hung on the coat rack. 

“Can I take your coat?” he asked, “I’m uh, Greg. Logan’s nephew.”

“Oh,” Tom slid out of his jacket and handed off to Greg, who shook it out on the carpet and hung it up, “It’s nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t really, but it wasn’t Greg’s fault he had the shittest job in the entire Waystar multimedia conglomerate. 

“Hey Jonah!” Greg called, motioning for Tom to follow him down the hall, “Tom’s here.”

The hallway let out into a kitchen. It was tiny. No more than a table, some chairs, and a couple of appliances. The counters were dark as well, though the fridge was bright white, if a little dingy looking. A corkboard on the wall held several articles of the local papers, maybe news they discussed. An honest to God landline hung on the wall.

It smelled like coffee and Tom thought that a nice coffee would warm him up perfectly. The heat was starting to set in, but the rain had gone deeper than just his skin. Tom had grown too used to heat he guessed. 

“That’s Jonah,” Greg said, nodding to the man at the table, who was typing at a laptop that Tom would have gaged to be at _least_ ten years old.

“Yeah I figured,” Tom said. He sat his briefcase on the table, “Can I get a coffee?”

“Oh sure,” Greg jumped slightly, and went over the cabinets. He pulled down a mug that had the name of a bar printed on it, and poured coffee into it, “There’s sugar and stuff on the table.”

“Surely it isn’t just you two?” Tom asked. He had all this information in his bag somewhere, and although he hadn’t memorized it, he was pretty sure there were not only two employees.

“No,” Jonah said, glaring at Tom, “Sam’s out sick today, and it’s Mike’s off on Tuesdays after-”

He glanced up at Greg who just shrugged, and whatever thought Jonah was going to say died on his tongue. Tom didn’t particularly care. Maybe they were together, these two. Who cared? 

Greg handed off the coffee, and Tom let the warmth soak into his hands. He took a sip-- it was pretty shit coffee, but he found he cared more about the temperature than anything else. He slid into the chair and propped his briefcase open, pulling out folders and packets. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” he began, “Logan wants to assess this station’s financial sustainability. To see if it’s worth revamping, or should simply be sold off.”

“Yeah,” Greg opened the fridge and pulled out a container of mystery food. He opened it and smelled it, shrugged, and opened the silverware drawer, “You’re here to like, kill us.”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “Logan says that radio is a tradition, but a dying one. I’m here to observe.”

He wanted nothing more than to fire the lot of them, sell the building, and get the next plane to New York. But there were steps you took to get in with the Roys. If he fucked this, Logan would never agree to a marriage with Shiv. This was the final step. Spend the time in this shithole, return a favorite, and go from there. 

“We can start after this hour,” Jonah said, “We’re on in ten.”

“Fuck,” Greg said, through a mouthful of food. Tom very much got the impression that his being here wasn’t convincing them. That they weren’t going to put on airs or try and convince him of anything. Maybe they hated it as much as he did, “I’ll be in in a sec.”

Jonah shut the ancient laptop, and left through the other way. The studio must have been just next door. This place felt strangely cramped, like it was somehow smaller than it should have been. Greg took another bite straight out of the container. 

“Do you like it here?” Tom asked, “I’d have thought that family wouldn’t be banished to fucking Siberia.”

Greg shrugged, “Yeah. I mean like, it’s fine. My grandpa says radio is an art we should preserve.”

“You mean good ol’ Grandpa Ewan? Logan can’t stand the man.”

That would make sense then. Logan had deemed his brother’s bloodline to be the cursed one. No wonder cousin Greg had been banished out here, while the rest of the family had cushy office jobs on the East Coast.

(He briefly remembered that he too had been sent out here, but that was different. He pushed the thought away.)

“Yeah they don’t talk so much,” Greg replied, “But like, one day I think I’ll get out of here.”

“You realize that I can shut this all down?”

Greg laughed-- it was kind of humorless, the kind of laugh that told Tom he was missing some of the joke, “I know. I gotta get on the air. Feel free to look around. There’s a bathroom down the hall on the left, and the storage is on the right. There’s a back shed too, but it’s probably flooded in the rain.”

“Sure,” Tom said, “I’ll look around.”

There was something he was missing here. But he had no clue what it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom discovers some odd habits of the radio station employees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote like, nine chapters of this yesterday i-

“There’s no night programming,” Tom said, pulling on his jacket. Jonah clapped Greg on the shoulder on the way out, and shook his head at Tom, “Why are you staying?”

“Someone has to be here at night,” Greg replied simply. He continued to the closet, jamming the box on the ground and carefully shutting the door.

“You can’t hire a security guard?”

Outside, he heard Jonah’s car start. The rain had subsided slightly, but he thought he still heard thunder in the distance. 

“Oh we can,” Greg said, “Like, they always quit though. It’s just easier for one of us to stay. We know better.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Greg sighed, “Stay if you want to, Tom, but you’re not gonna believe me anyway.”

Tom frowned. He hated when people wouldn’t share things with him. The Roys did the same shit. Like he wasn’t quite _in_ enough to know the real trade secrets. What fucking right did cousin Greg, banished to this shit job have to keep things from him. 

“I’m staying,” Tom said, not sure why exactly. He wanted to know whatever it was that made Greg have to spend the night, and he sort of hoped to catch him running a drug ring or something that could end his tenure here early. 

“Ok,” Greg said, “Come into the kitchen. There’s some stuff I got to tell you if you want to stay.”

He took his jacket back off and hung it up again. The warm light-- he’d been so thankful for it before-- was a little eerie now, but he chalked it up to the rain, to the silence of the forest outside, and the unfamiliar surroundings. 

“Lock the door behind you,” Greg called over his shoulder, “The top and bottom lock.”

He made sure the door was shut, clicked the lock of the doorknob, and slid the other lock into place. 

Back in the kitchen, Greg was locking the window about the sink. Tom leaned against the doorway and rubbed the back of his neck, “So what kind of Blair Witch Project thing have I signed up for.”

Greg chuckled, “Yeah right? Do you want some coffee? I’m putting on another pot.”

For some reason, Greg’s answer had made him slightly unnerved. He had been mostly joking, but Greg’s distinct lack of a no had been odd. 

But again, it was just the dark woods and the rain. This wasn’t a horror movie, it was just a radio station, and a bunch of poor fuckers damned to work here like some kind of mid level circle of Hell.

“So here’s the thing,” Greg said, turning the coffee pot on. He retrieved two mugs from the cabinet and set them down. Then he finally turned to face Tom, “I think you’re probably, like, a rational person. So this shit will seem pretty fucked. But if you decide to stay, I’m like, begging you to listen to what I’m telling you.”

“Ooohhh,” Tom smiled, teasingly, “Tell me a campfire story while you’re at it.”

He sat down at the table and folded his hands in front of him, like a child waiting for their snack. Greg did not return the smile. In fact, Tom thought he looked a little pale. 

“I’m like, serious.” Greg shook his head, “If you’re staying, you have to decide by ten. After ten, you cannot open that door. I’m serious.”

“Why?” Tom asked, “Do I get sucked into another dimension?”

“You just can’t. You can’t go outside of this building until six tomorrow morning. Not out front, out back. Not even to your car.”

“Should I be taking notes? Will there be a test?” he asked. He thought Shiv might laugh at this nonsense when he told her. If this was what Greg was like, maybe he could understand why Logan felt the way he did about Ewan.

Greg ignored him. Either Greg was a very good actor, genuinely believed this shit, or some kind of in between, because his face gave no indication of joking or humor.

“Sometimes the phone will ring,” he nodded towards the wall, “You don’t want to answer if. You won’t like whoever is on the other side. Anything you hear outside is not to be listened to either.”

“You’re having me on aren’t you. What is this, the fucking X-Files? Is this some kinda prank to make me leave early so you can keep this place in your grubby little hands?” Frankly, Tom didn’t like to be made fun of like this. He wasn’t an idiot. He was a rational person who didn’t believe in whatever Greg was trying to sell him.

“Look,” Greg said, with much more force than before, “If you don’t listen to me that’s on you man. I’m just telling you the basics.”

“Alright,” Tom held up a hand, “I’ll buy it for tonight. Have your fun. In the morning, when _nothing_ has happened, I’ll write down that you all have gone crazy, and that I recommend this place be gutted before one of you kills another, and maybe I can be back home before the weekend.”

Greg shrugged and didn’t respond. He poured the coffee and brought it to the table. Something about his acceptance of Tom’s words, and his completely serious manner was deeply, deeply unsettling. But if this was all part of the test, Tom was willing to play. 

“Don’t tell me there’s a ghost in the woods,” Tom said, “Some escaped madman or science experiment gone wrong?”

Greg shrugged, “I just don’t want you to get like, dead.”

Tom opened his mouth to make another joke, but it died on his lips. Something about it wasn’t funny anymore.

“Well what else should I know?” Tom asked, his voice light and slightly mocking. It was obvious he wasn’t buying the horseshit Greg was putting out, but let Greg have his fun or whatever. This was all temporary. 

Greg shook his head, “There’s a lot to know out here. About the town, the woods. But that’s all you should know about tonight. I don’t want to scare you away.”

“Oh you don’t want to scare me away?” Tom rolled his eyes, “What a load of shit this is. Do you get off on this? Is that what this is about?”

“There’s a sofa in the studio you can have. I’m staying up,” Greg said, “it’s always better if someone is awake.”

“Uh huh,” Tom raised his eyebrows, “Yeah it scares off the goblins.”

“Just promise you won’t go outside tonight,” Greg said. He sounded weary of this. He was committed to the role, Tom had to give him props. Maybe he could make it on the stage when Tom shut this shit down. He was pretty sure Willa was always looking for actors to do her weird contemporary drama. Maybe she could branch into horror, “Please.”

“Sure,” Tom held up one hand and put the other over his heart, “Scout’s honor.”

“Thanks,” Greg let out a breath, “I’ll try to explain more in the morning.”

“Oh yes,” Tom nodded, “I think you’ll have to. Because right now, I think you’ve lost it.”

“Sometimes I think so too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone rings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the way my mom asked me if this part was a sponebob reference i- it's not i just ripped it from an it fic i'll never finish

Somewhere a phone was ringing. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he was no longer sitting upright on the uncomfortable sofa, but lying down, a worn quilt thrown over him. He didn’t remember the quilt and when it fell to the floor as he sat up, he stared at it for a moment, unsure of what it was. 

At first, he reached for his own cell phone, but it had died sometime during the night. He pushed himself up and went into the kitchen. Greg was still up-- did the man really just sit up all night and wait for fucking Bigfoot to knock on the door-- and flipping through a magazine at the table.

The landline was ringing.

“I wouldn’t answer that if I were you,” he said casually, not looking up when Tom came in. 

“Who calls this late?” Tom asked. He knew he sounded like a fucking coward, but Greg’s dumbass rules had freaked him out enough, stuck in this spooky place as he was. He didn’t dare try to drive home this late. There weren’t any lights on the road, and he’d probably hit an animal and crash in this storm. 

(Probably hit _something_ anyway, a vague shape in the dark.)

“You don’t want to know,” Greg said. There was a tiredness in his voice that seemed to tell Tom he wasn’t the first to hear this. 

“You’ve put in the effort,” Tom said, walking over, “I appreciate it. I do. Very high production value here, but enough is enough. Who is it? Jonah? Did you have to pay him to wake up to call in the middle of the night.”

Greg looked up at him. The phone continued to ring. An invitation almost. An instinct. A ringing phone was meant to be answered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you man.”

Tom scoffed and picked up the phone mid ring, and he held it to his ear. It was cold against his skin, and he shivered just a bit.

“Hello?”

Silence on the other end. It just _felt_ like a prank call. Greg had closed the magazine, and was watching him curiously. He felt like an idiot for falling for this shit. He should have just gone back to bed. Shouldn’t have even stayed in the first place.

“Tom?” the voice on the other end asked. It wasn’t Jonah’s-- at least it didn’t sound like Jonah--but a woman’s voice. He thought stupidly that it was Shiv, but it was the middle of the night on the East Coast as well. He just missed her was all. 

“Oh fun,” he said, “Let’s see what this is all about.”

Greg was eying him now, as if to gage his reaction. 

“Oh Tommy,” the voice said. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. But he hadn’t been called Tommy since he was a child. Junior High at the latest. Sometimes his mother called him that when he was worried sure, but this wasn’t his mother’s voice. But then again, Tommy was a common nickname, probably most kids with his name had someone who used it. Tom was thankful for the rational part of his brain for taking over, “Why’d you stay Tommy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this Sam?” he rolled his eyes at Greg, as if to tell him that this was all pretty stupid. Greg wasn’t smiling, didn’t look like he’d just executed a successful joke, “I thought you were sick. You don’t sound sick to me. You guys always fake sick days? Logan won’t like that”

“Stay,” the voice said again. It wasn’t so female anymore. A little deeper, a little more gravelly

(a little less human)

so Tom must have misheard it earlier, “Stayed in that cabin.”

He felt his blood run cold, “Who is this?”

The voice laughed. Cackled. It was more of a cackle. Laughing was what you did when someone on a TV show did something dumb, when you were happy. This wasn’t happy.

“Little Tommy. Lost all alone. Careful of the dark little Tommy else it’ll get _you_ too.”

Tom slammed the phone down onto the receiver, so hard, he was surprised it didn’t break. He backed away slowly, half expecting it to jump back off into his hands. He was sweating, could feel it dripping down his neck, soaking his collar. 

“What the fuck was that?” he hissed. Greg stared at him cautiously. 

“I mean, like, I _said_ not to answer it.”

“No,” Tom ran a hand over his face, “Fuck that. I don’t know who the fuck you paid to do that, but this isn’t funny. You had your laugh at the fucking boss or whatever, but I need to know who that was?”

“I don’t know who it is,” Greg shrugged, “It’s different all the time. For everybody I mean.”

Tom pointed at the phone with a shaky hand. The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, his brain was working too fast and his body couldn’t keep up. Not while he was practically hyperventilating, not while his heart threatened to beat right out of his ribs. 

“I’m serious,” he went over to Greg and grabbed the front of his shirt. Greg seemed unfazed by the threat, and looked lazily down, “What the fuck was that.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Greg replied, “I swear I don’t. If I knew, I would tell you.”

Tom let go of him all at once. 

“You’ve got me all spooked,” Tom laughed. It sounded manic and horrified and not at all like a laugh should sound. He shook his head, “That’s all.”

He brushed the wrinkle from his fist out of Greg’s sweater. Tom was good at reigning himself in. He thought so at least. It was just the atmosphere, Greg’s fucking stupid stories, all that getting to him. Jetlag maybe.

“I’m going back to bed.”

The phone rang again. Tom looked at it, then back to Greg, waiting for some kind of explanation. 

Greg glanced at it and shrugged, returning to his magazine. Tom went back into the other room, flung himself down on the sofa and covered his head with his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Shiv talk and Tom thinks about the previous night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess i lied about no daily uploads huh?

In the morning, Tom was stiff from sleeping on a too small couch. The night before had seemed like a bad dream, until he saw Greg still in the kitchen and remembered that whatever it was, it hadn’t been a dream. 

“It’s after six,” Greg said, looking at his watch, “you can go if you want to. I’m off today.”

“You’re not going to tell me what happened?”

“If I could, I would. I’ll buy you breakfast if you want. There’s a diner in town that makes just, a delectable strawberry pancake.”

Tom hated how calm Greg was. Talking about pancakes as if the night hadn’t happened. Fuck him for that. 

“Sure,” Tom stifled a yawn, “I expect answers though.”

“I’ll give you what I can. Mike should be here soon. Then we can go.”

Tom waved his hand in acknowledgment and returned to the other room. He jammed his phone into a charger and waited for it to power up. There was a text from Shiv, inquiring as to his first day at the station, and an email from Logan asking for his first impressions. He shot back to Shiv that it was a dumpy little radio station, run by a bunch of people who desperately needed real human interaction. He would compose an email later. 

Instead of replying to his message, she called. Tom paused, just for a moment, finger over the answer button. But that was dumb. It was only Shiv. 

“Hey,” he stifled another yawn. 

“Bad huh?” She laughed, “No future in radio?”

“Ha. Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “No. this place is a little, ah, spooky. You don’t think we can wrap this up soon? It kind of gives me the fucking creeps.”

“I’ll talk to Dad,” she said, “but unlikely. Might be he’s got some belief that there’s something in radio or maybe he’s just fucking going insane. You know how he gets. He trusted you with this though.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Keep your chin up,” Shiv said. He got the distinct impression she was making fun of him. Kendall or Roman would have never been given a task like this, “I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Sure. Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sleep had mostly eluded him last night. It was blurry, after the phone call. He remembered waking up once, maybe twice. Old nightmares. Ones he had thought he left behind when he left home for the first time. 

“You ready to go,” Greg poked his head into the room, “Mike just got here.”

“Sure,” he nodded, “I’m ready.”

Mike greeted them out front. He was nice enough even if Tom thought the whole lot of them were probably out of their minds. Greg handed off the keys, and introduced them. 

“How was the night?” Mike asked. He shot Tom a look and then returned his eyes to Greg. 

“Quiet,” Greg smiled, “Relatively. I think the shed might have flooded again during the storm yesterday so be careful when you go out there.”

“Gotcha,” Mike nodded, “It’s nice to meet you Tom.”

“Uh huh,” Tom opened his car door and chucked his briefcase into the backseat, “you too. Are we going? I’ll follow you.”

“Oh sure,” Greg nodded. 

Greg got into his car and Tom watched Mike raise a hand from the doorway. He waved back politely. 

Greg drove carefully down the winding road. Tom matched his speed, still not quite used to these roads. The rain had let up, at least for the morning. The clouds looked dark and threatening but Tom would take the break for what it was worth. 

He fiddled with the radio, finding mostly static. They must not have been on the air yet, and none of the other stations reached up here. Giving up, he turned the radio off. It was better to pay attention anyway. 

It had been a weird night. The rain had much louder in the trees than back in town, and all night animals hooted and howled in the distance. Sometimes too close for comfort, butTom had locked the door personally. And they were just animals. He was being an idiot. 

But then there was the phone call. 

He thought maybe, stupidly, that Greg had slipped something into his coffee some kind of hallucinogen. But even though the place had smelled faintly of weed when he arrived, he was pretty sure that wasn’t what had happened. 

The voice had been— well he didn’t know what it had been. But the way it had spoken. It did not feel like a prank call. Even if Greg had paid some friend to call up and scare the shit out of him how had it known

(about the dark about the dark that he knew would come for him one of these days the dark the dark the dark)

about the things it said. Hell, Shiv didn’t even know some of those things. They weren’t exactly on his fucking Facebook page. 

But it was fake. That’s all it was. Who was to say it wasn’t even Logan pulling the strings? Logan could have probably found out about that October if he wanted to. Could have engineered this whole thing, maybe even Greg was in on it. 

Tom wouldn’t have put it past him. It was batshit. But it wouldn’t have been impossible. 

Seemed a little dramatic though. Logan was a business man, not a fucking haunted house operator. Why torture Tom like this?

He supposed he could bring it up. Ask Shiv if her father had really resorted to playing slasher movie on the phone with him from halfway across the country, in the middle of the night. But he thought she might laugh at him. He was acting like a kid about the whole thing. And it sounded stupid even to him. 

It was just weird. A weird thing but that was all. He would laugh about it when he was back in New York and Shiv was going to be his wife and the fucking weird ass radio station in the woods and the late night phone calls were just a story. 

(A fucking scary story he’d never tell anybody, but a story nonetheless.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg discuss business and haunted phones over breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me writing like ten chapters just yesterday, 100 percent lying to you about no daily uploads i-

The diner on Main Street was like a thousand diners across the country, and Tom had driven by it several times since arriving without even noticing it was there. Cheap vinyl seats, plastic covered menus, and annoying ass music. Tom accepted his coffee black, and watched Greg order two different breakfasts, while the waitress— an older woman with dyed blonde hair— pinched his cheek and smiled. He had to admit, Greg had that kind of face. He looked innocent and trustworthy. Maybe that’s why Tom was willing to believe all this BS. Greg’s sad eyes and dopey smile made you automatically listen, maybe even believe. 

“So?” Tom took a long sip of coffee. It was marginally better than the mud at the station but not great, “you had your fun. Now we can discuss business.”

“I mean fun— I don’t think fun is the right word.”

“Well you got me. I’ve been fully hazed or whatever. So we can put all of this behind us and you can convince me why I shouldn’t gut this entire thing.”

“I’m not doing this to prank you,” Greg said, “I know like, you don’t believe me. But I’m not trying to _get_ you or whatever. I only told you that stuff last night as a warning.”

“Oh a warning? Of course.”

Greg shrugged, “whatever man.”

“You’re making absolutely no effort to save your own skin,” Tom leaned forward slightly, “Do you honestly not give a shit.”

“We’re not gonna get shut down,” Greg said, “Not really. Hey, are you sure you don’t want to eat? Breakfast is literally the most important meal of the day.”

“What the _fuck_ does that mean? ‘Not really?’”

Greg smiled and Tom once again got the distinct impression that he knew more than he was letting on and Tom fucking hated that. The waitress returned, and set the plates down. She topped off Tom’s coffee and Greg thanked her.

The famous strawberry pancakes looked like nothing more than a couple of pancakes with strawberries on top, but Greg tucked in like it was the best meal he had ever been presented with. 

It was easy to remember why Tom didn’t frequent diners. The food was too cheap, and greasy, and the clientele, like Greg, wouldn't know real food if it was placed directly under their noses. 

“Where are you staying?” Greg asked, “Not in town?”

“God no,” Tom frowned, “Why would anybody stay here willingly? I’m in the city.”

“Oh.”

“You’re not going back to the station today?” Tom asked. He thought maybe he had hurt Greg’s feelings with his comment, but he wasn’t going to get worked up over it. 

“No. I’m going grocery shopping and then I’m going to bed,” Greg said, “You can hang out here if you want to or you can go back to the station. Tuesdays are music all day, so it’s just Mike.”

“I’d like to look around town. Get the feel of the listenership.” Actually, Tom wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for. Logan didn’t want this tiny station on the other side of the country. This was surely just a formality. Tom could just spend his months in the city, bide his time, and when the time was right, pull out. 

(He didn’t like to admit it, but something was strangely intriguing about this town. Maybe it was just that he’d never lived in a small town, but the phone call last night, the strange way the employees at the station existed-- all of it was a hell of a hook. And Logan would need never know he was playing detective instead of really working. Logan didn’t give a shit about what he did. Why not live out some childhood Scooby Doo fantasy. Once he was married, it would be off the table anyway.)

“Oh alright,” Greg said, “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

Tom looked down at the other plate, the one Greg had yet to touch. The food _did_ look good, and it’d been a while since he’d had waffles anyway. He slid the plate over and took a bite, and Greg laughed, covering his mouth with his napkin. 

“Can I ask something?” 

Greg nodded. 

“That phone call. That wasn’t your doing was it.”

“Uh no,” Greg poked at his pancake with his fork, “No. It wasn’t me. Or like, any of the others.”

He could almost here Roman laughing at him, calling him a pussy and a baby for getting scared at a phone call and a little rain. Shiv would laugh too, and he could hear Kendall’s mocking tone. They would call him a moron and never believe any of this. He was letting the atmosphere block out the rational and logical part of his brain. Like a kid listening to scary stories around a campfire and hiding under the covers at night instead of sleeping

(like he had done that time in the cabin)

like a fucking Boy Scout or some stupid shit like that.

“I can’t decide if you’re telling me the truth. I mean, you clearly believe it. But maybe you’re just crazy.” He took a bite of his own breakfast and washed it down with coffee, “I don’t know which is worse.”

“Yeah,” Greg frowned at his plate, “Yeah I think maybe sometimes that too.”

“But let’s say, hypothetically, I did buy all this,” Tom waves his hand vaguely, “Supernatural shit. What? You all just sit in the station all night and hope nothing comes in? Why don’t you call a priest?”

“It’s, I don’t know. It’s not that simple Tom. It’s just, like, the way it is. I guess sometimes people are just… stuck with things.”

(Stuck with things was right.)

“And you’re stuck in this job? If you hate it so much you should quit. I’ll get you a job in New York. Sure I will, I’ll look after you. You seem decent enough, if a little… touched. I’m sure I could find something for you to do.”

“It’s not that simple,” Greg said again, “You’ll see.”

“You sound like a fucking horror movie. Fine, don’t fucking tell me. I don’t care. I’m shutting this place the second I can. I don’t give a fuck what Logan does with you after. Maybe the four of you can start a cult in the place and worship whatever the fuck called me last night and fuck off for eternity. I’m going home and never fucking coming back.”

“Sure,” Greg sighed, “Maybe so.”

They fell quiet. The diner talked around them. He heard the clatter of silverware on plates, of the ring of the cash register, and the mutter of people. Even this early, the place was fairly crowded. Even so, Tom felt like everybody could hear them talk about this stupid shit, was laughing at him for believing it. Maybe the whole town was in on the joke, and he looked like the idiot with egg on his face.

“What did the phone say to you?” Tom asked, “Because you clearly have heard before.”

“It sounded like my dad, only not quite him,” Greg cocked his head, but didn’t look up at Tom, “Just talked for a bit. This was back before we knew just not to answer it, so a couple of years ago.”

“Have you tried disconnecting it?” Tom asked. It felt very much like the IT people asking if he’d tried turning his shitty computer off and on again.

“It is,” Greg said, so quiet Tom almost missed it and he decided he didn’t want to ask any more questions. Or rather, he didn’t want to hear any more answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom spends the day cataloging and gets introduced to the staff's full moon job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally ignore what i said about daily uploads i literally am almost done with this i-

Several days passed. Tom popped into shops. The town seemed to like their little local station, which apparently only reached about twenty miles-- the town and some nearby campsites. It had shrunk over the years. But in general, they enjoyed it. The station played good music, took listener stories on Friday afternoons, and kept the news local and pertinent. 

(In truth, Tom didn’t see why letting the place stay open would be bad. It could hardly cost much to run, and it wasn’t as it Waystar couldn’t afford it. But Logan would never see it that way. It wasn't bringing money _in_ and that was the key.”

On Friday afternoon-- just in time for listener stories, he went back. Greg told him that the back storage shed was finally dry enough, if Tom wanted to look through it, and Tom had decided that he did. 

“So here it is,” Greg led him back through the damp grass and pushed the door open, “The light goes out sometimes, so you might want to leave the door propped open. It’s mostly old shit back here that doesn’t work. The rifle back here’s not loaded, so don’t worry.”

“You keep a rifle on the premises?” 

Greg nodded, “This is an old one. There’s another inside.”

He supposed actually that made sense. Who knew what kind of wild animals lived in the woods, and should they have been confronted with one, they’d need something. You’d never be allowed that in Manhattan, but things were different out here.

“The radio works. It’s under the tarp if you want to listen to the show. I’ll be around so just like, shout. The signal is iffy up here, so your phone might not work.”

“Yeah whatever,” Tom said and Greg shrugged and left him to his own devices. 

Most of this stuff was junk. Broken microphones and a couple of records up on boxes on the tables. The floor was a little damp, but everything here was damp. Several boxes of old papers, payslips from the eighties, and logs of hours from the nineties. It seemed like once in the inside storage closet was full, shit was brought out here. It felt very hoarderish. 

The old broken stuff, nothing of value, was shoved to one side. He would suggest that they chuck the whole bunch of it. The papers should all be shredded, and this whole thing could be torn down. 

The next box was full of newspapers. He waved the dust away and pulled the first one out, dated 1972. This place must have been in it’s prime back then, when radio was thriving. The front page detailed a string of hikers going missing downstate a bit. He figured they used to collect newsworthy stories to discuss on air, but a quick scan of the content still freaked him out a little bit. People never found, and those that were in just… horrible condition. 

Tom wasn’t much of an outdoor person. Not anymore

(not since then)

but even so, it was a creepy thing to read.

But this could all be tossed to. There was nothing of fucking value in this whole station, so why didn’t he just call Logan and tell him it wasn’t junk. Maybe he’d passed his test and he could go fucking home.

He came upon the radio, which looked to be as old as fucking time, and tuned to the station, half expecting the dial to come on in his hand. He recognized Jonah’s voice, in the middle of some story and left it on for background noise. The wind in the trees should have been a peaceful and calming sound, and given the fact he lived in a city, he should have been soaking it up, but since he was so on edge, it was too unnerving. 

He pulled another newspaper out. Scanned the headline and pulled out another. Somebody had a taste for the macabre, because not a single newspaper detailed a town parade or good fucking news. It was all death and murder and tragedy. He had to admit, it was solid world building. A nice touch. Gloom and doom in the form of newspapers and a ghost telephone. A B movie probably, nothing critically acclaimed, but one you’d probably enjoy late night, or during a movie marathon. 

“Hey,” a voice at the door said, and Tom nearly jumped at the sound. Reading about a never solved murder alone fucking two feet from the woods was a bad idea apparently, “Oh sorry man.”

“Hello Greg.”

“It’s getting kind of late,” Greg said, “Mike’s making his chili, and I thought you might like to stay for dinner.”

Tom glanced at his watch. Five hours had passed. He looked at it again. There was no way that could be right. He couldn't have been out here more than an hour. Hour and a half at most. Jonah was still talking, no program went five fucking hours. 

But Jonah wasn’t talking. The radio was playing a Queen song, and Tom finally looked up at Greg who was looking back at him. Beyond him the sky was a bright orange, the sun beginning to set. 

“Time’s weird up here,” Greg said, before Tom could even say anything, “But you should come in before dark.”

“Can I bring these in?” he nodded to his collected pile of newspapers.

“Oh sure. You can have them if you want. That shit was all here before any of us started here. We just keep it out here.”

“Sure,” Tom picked the box up and balanced it on one hip, “Do you all work on Fridays?”

“Not usually,” Greg held the door open for him, “But it’s the peak of a full moon so.”

“You’re fucking kidding. What, are there werewolves in the woods?” 

“No, werewolves aren’t real Tom,” Greg chastised, “We just all stay during this time. It’s safer. You can stay too if you want.”

“It’s the final day of my hazing?” Tom asked. 

“Sure.”

They went inside, where Tom’s mouth started practically watering at the scent of chili. Mike clearly knew what he was doing. He set the box down in the kitchen, and Greg handed him a glass of wine. 

“Are you staying the night too Tom?” Sam asked. He had only just met her today, but she was a college student studying journalism. Tom resisted the urge to tell her that this was not, in fact, journalism, because she seemed to like her job well enough here. The poor fuckers would be out of a job soon enough anyway, no matter what kind of ‘you’ll see’ shit Greg went on about.

“I suppose I will,” Tom sat down at the table, “See what all the fuss is about.”

“Tom doesn’t believe any of our shit,” Mike called from the stove, “Even though Greg said he answered the phone.”

“Elaborate,” Tom agreed, “You all are good at what you do. Maybe you should open a Halloween attraction.”

“Greg did you pick up the stuff?” Sam asked. 

“Oh yeah,” Greg pushed himself off the counter and went into the hall, returning with a paper bag. Tom was pretty sure it wasn’t drugs, “Thanks for reminding me.”

“What stuff?” Tom asked. This wine was cheap too, but after the strangeness of the last few hours-- or rather the lack of the past few hours-- the alcohol was welcome.

“Offerings,” Sam said, grinning at him.

Tom made a face, “Like, don’t tell me you sacrifice animals or something here. I’m going to call the cops.”

“No,” Greg set the back down and pulled several things out. A box of matches, a few taper candles, a blanket, and what looked like a roll of bandages. Tom wondered, briefly, if he was going to be sacrificed. This all felt a little bit like a ritual or something, “For the visitors.”

“There’s always more on a full moon,” Sam informed him, as if she was telling him that it was beginning to rain or that she had had pizza for lunch. 

“What the fuck does that mean? Do you put _offerings_ down on your expense forms?”

“He really doesn’t buy this does he?” Jonah asked, instead of answering.

“Maybe after tonight,” Greg said thoughtfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom meets the monthly station visitors.

They drank and talked well into the night. He didn’t get the impression that any of the others particularly liked him. They seemed to tolerate him the way you tolerated a boss who insisted on hanging around you. Greg was the only exception, but it seemed that Greg liked everybody. 

Around ten or so, the doors and windows were all locked, curtains drawn, and another bottle of wine popped open. He had slowed his drinking, to keep his wits about him, but he could feel a slight buzz. Not enough to impede his senses, but enough to take the edge off. He wished he knew where his afternoon hours had gone.

The buzzer at the front door rang.

Greg glanced at the clock above the stove, “Right on time.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked, “Are you expecting somebody?”

Sam giggled and slid the blanket across the table. Greg snatched it up and stood. The buzzer rang again followed by a pounding on the door. Someone wanted their attention. Desperately. 

“Godspeed,” Mike said.

“Tom, you want to come?” Greg folded the blanket over his arm, “see where Uncle Logan’s money is going?”

Tom glanced around, trying to decipher the blank faces of the others. Was this when they would reveal the prank? Would throw him outside into the night? But he could read nothing in their expressions.

“Sure,” he stood up, “I’m a good sport.”

“Try not to let it show on your face,” Jonah called after him, and he heard the other three chuckle. He hated them all at that moment. The three of them, and Logan, and everybody for using him for their own entertainment. 

He followed a few paces behind Greg, to the knocking which was growing more frequent and impatient. 

Greg pulled the door open and Tom peeked over his shoulder. 

It-- for it could not have been a human-- looked vaguely like a woman, dressed in a skirt and blouse, both of which were covered in blood. Tom felt his stomach lurch, and swallowed. One side of her face was bashed in, giving her a distinctly uneven appearance. 

“Here you go,” Greg said, placing the blanket in her outstretched hands. Both of which were nothing more than skin and bone. Physically, Tom wouldn’t have placed her as older than twenty, but something about her was older than him, older than maybe all of them put together, “Stay warm.”

She smiled, a horribly disgusting thing that reminded Tom a little bit of the Joker. He thought maybe it was lipstick on her face, but it was the exact shade of dried blood. Greg smiled back, and she turned, back out into the street. Tom didn’t see where she went. 

“What-” he swallowed again, “What was that?”

“Mike calls her Carrie,” Greg rolled his eyes, “But I don’t know what her name is.”

“Was she uh, was she human?” Tom asked. It felt like a dumb question, but the right one to ask.

“Maybe once,” Greg shook his head, “We try to treat them nicely, like we would if a regular person came knocking. You’re supposed to treat… spirits well.”

“So that was a ghost?” Tom asked. He hoped it would come across as disbelieving, but he knew he was awake, and had seen the girl with his own two eyes. 

“Come back to the kitchen,” Greg brushed past him, “The other ones don’t come till later.”

“Others…”

Greg nodded, “They’re not harmful. I think we’re situated in some kind of weird space, the veil is thinner here, or whatever. I don’t know. But it’s part of the job.”

“I can see that. What uh, what happens if you don’t give them anything?” Tom asked, trailing after Greg. He hated feeling like he didn’t have the upper hand in this situation. He should have. He was their boss. 

“You don’t want to know,” Greg grimaced, “But do you believe us now?”

“I don’t want to,” Tom frowned. He left his chair empty and leaned against the counter, the other four staring at him, “It doesn’t feel possible. I mean, fucking ghosts and shit? What is this? The Overlook?”

“Yeah we don’t know,” Greg replied. He seemed to be the only one willing to offer Tom anything. The other three, he thought, were getting their kicks watching him lose his mind at all of this, “It’s just, we’ve had this shit passed down since the station was founded, back in the fifties.”

“Keeping the lighthouse,” Tom muttered. He picked up the wine bottle, swirled it around once, and then took a long sip. No one seemed to mind, “Was she dead?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “She was. Since 1962. We think she has a _thing_ for Greg.”

Greg rolled his eyes, “Yeah right.”

“It’s like the ghost hitchhiker,” Mike said, “You know that story?”

“Sure,” Tom said. His voice sounded strange, distant. Not quite his, “Everybody knows that legend. I grew up in the suburbs. You pick the girl up, drive her home, oh no, she’s dead!”

“We think it’s like that.”

“Great,” he took another long swig of wine. Why the fuck were they so calm about this. And why the fuck was he so willing to believe them? 

Tom had read once, that sometimes your brain saw things it couldn't process, couldn't understand. It tried desperately to come up with a rational explanation, to give you a reason. He felt like his brain was working overtime. Sometimes your brain simply removed the memory. It was too horrible to fathom anyway. 

He wished his brain would do that.

“I’d be pissed if my father in law sent me here,” Jonah said, and Tom glared at him. He looked away.

The buzzer he was told, would go off two more times. 

Sam went to bed after the second-- a man in a rain slicker holding a hand to his arm, blood seeping through his fingers. Greg gifted him the roll of bandages, and gave him directions to the nearest hospital. 

“You guys don’t have to stay up,” Greg said, “Tom’s here, so it won’t be just me.”

Jonah and Mike exchanged a look and shrugged. There were sofas and pallets shoved in available spaces, like the sofa Tom had slept on his first night. How one could sleep tonight, Tom didn’t know, but maybe it was something you got used to.

“Are you sure?” Mike asked, stifling a yawn. It was nearly two, and Tom wasn’t even remotely tired. The amount of adrenaline pumping through his blood right now was probably enough to shock someone back to life. 

“Sure,” Greg said, “Like, I’m not even tired anyway. And it’s just the last one anyway.”

They sat in silence when the others left. Greg had put on coffee, but Tom couldn’t drink it. What the fuck was he going to tell Logan? Tell _Shiv_? 

Sure, radio’s out of fashion, and the station can’t be worth more than a few hundred bucks for the land it’s on, but I’m terrified if they leave, the fucking ghosts that come to call won’t be happy? 

Logan would probably have him committed.

“So every month they do this?” Tom asked. 

“Uh huh. Every month. You get used to it.”

“Do you Greg? You get used to ghosts showing up and demanding shit? What the fuck.”

“Look man,” Greg shook his head, “I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. My mom just wanted me to get a job. She was tired of me begging for money. Logan puts me here. I don’t ask questions. The old boss didn’t either. I was family after all. I thought they were making fun of me as well. I didn’t even believe in ghosts till I started here. I know you want to shut this place down and leave, but we have a job here. I don’t know. It’s like, the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

Tom fell silent. 

“I’ll behave,” Tom said, hating that he sort of felt like Greg’s words struck something in him.

When the third buzzer rang, Tom didn’t speak. He watched Greg collect the candles and matches, followed him to the door, and kept his mouth shut. A man and a woman-- maybe a couple, both incredibly bloody, stood there. They were in hiking gear and boots, but their clothes were ripped, and the man’s arm was at an angle that meant it had to be broken. The woman had one eye shut, and Tom thought maybe it was missing. 

“Here you go,” Greg handed the candles and matches off, “You’d better get a fire lit.”

“Thank you,” the man said, his voice gravelly and shrieking at the same time. Tom held back a wince. 

“You’re welcome,” Greg shut the door. Tom could hear them walking away, long dragging footsteps. 

“Those are the hikers from the news,” he said, “I saw them when I was cleaning.”

“Probably,” Greg shrugged, “That should be it for the night. You can go to bed if you want to. I’m staying up.”

“Don’t you fucking sleep?”

Greg chuckled, “Yeah. My mom used to tell me a story about this guy who didn’t sleep for like a week straight and then he went crazy, but that was because I didn’t sleep much when I was a kid, and she was trying to scare me into doing so. I’ll sleep when I go home tomorrow.”

“I guess,” Tom frowned, and thought he sounded a bit like his mother, who had long since given up trying to talk him into things, instead just sounding vaguely disappointed in him when she called.

“There’s lots of space in the back. Mike sleeps out there, but there’s another sofa you can have. I-”

Something pounded on the door, cutting him off. Greg froze and Tom suddenly had no desire to look and see. 

“I thought you said that was the last one?”

“Fuck,” Greg replied. 

Something pounded again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has a Tragic Past but he will not be unpacking that right now, thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tom and greg _will_ be bonding on the DL over the x files i will not be taking questions on this

“What is it?” Tom whispered. He felt his heart racing again, and wiped his hands on his pants. Greg, who was usually pretty calm in the face of apparent fucking ghosts, looked pale and almost sick in thie shitty light. Whatever it was had been unexpected. 

“Go back into the kitchen,” Greg said, waving him off, and for once in his life, Tom didn’t feel like arguing, “I’ll be there in just a second.”

Tom turned on his heel and left. He heard Greg checking the locks, heard a closet door open and shut. Greg followed him in and set the rifle on the table. 

“It’s- it’s not going to come in is it?” Tom glanced in the direction of the noise. Were the others so used to it they just slept through? Or maybe you couldn’t hear very well in the studio with the door shut, “Cause I don’t really think bullets will stop that thing.”

“No,” Greg shook his head, “They can’t come in. At least I’m pretty sure. I think they can’t get in.”

“ _Pretty_ sure?”

“Well I’m not entirely sure they’re ghosts. I’m like, _pretty_ sure. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a precaution anyway. They’ve never come in before.”

“Who is banging on the door?” Tom asked. This time the pounding was less of a knocking and more like the sound of someone throwing their weight against the door, “And am I going to die?”

“Oh no, you’re not going to die. It’s not you he’s after anyway.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Tom grumbled. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was slipping back into those days as a kid, focusing on the things in the dark that sometimes brought the dark to you. But they had been ill prepared. There was no rifle in the cabin that day because his uncle had taken it with him, and Tom was really just a kid anyway. 

(Still, he couldn’t forget the other night’s phone call, the voice that called him Tommy and talked about the dark.)

“It’s not anybody anymore,” Greg explained. Another noise, and Greg winced slightly, “I’m pretty sure it’s not like the others. I don’t think this one’s a ghost. This one doesn’t show up that much honestly.”

“What a weird fucking conversation this is. I feel like Fox fucking Mulder.”

“You’re Scully actually I think,” Greg replied, without any hesitation. 

Tom cracked a smile, “I guess that’s fine.”

“But once it was somebody that I used to date, back in college.” Greg frowned, and Tom knew that there was more to the story. He wanted to know, but decided that he didn’t have any right to that information. Greg’s past was his own business and so long as Greg’s past didn’t break down the door and stab him in the heart, then that was fine, “But he, uh, died. I don’t know. I think it’s just the only person whatever fucking monster it is can figure out to use one me. I think they have to be dead. If you hang out here long enough you might have one of your own.”

“Oh exciting. Can’t wait to get my own personal hellspawn catered to my own dead fucking person.”

“Yeah. So, like, maybe remember that. In case. It’s not them. I promise it’s not them.” Greg ran a hand over his face, “Not really anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom said, realizing he’d been far too cruel just then. He went over to the table and fell into one of the chairs, “About your loss. That- that’s a terrible thing to have happen.”

“It was a long time ago, it’s fine. He’ll go away soon.”

“Do the others-”

“They’ve got their own. I think it’s the same… creature. I don’t know. It doesn’t come all the time. You being here probably messed with like, the energy or whatever. You probably realized reality is just slightly off kilter here. And since I’m still awake…”

Tom nodded. He knew exactly what he might see, should he be the next target. The same sight he saw when the dark came the first time. Claw marks and blood and the faint smell of metal in the air. His uncle’s glassy eyes. His aunt’s scream. The hospital and the police, and his mother’s frantic voice in the waiting room. 

If his brain was going to purge any memories, those were the ones he would have chosen. 

“So like you two dated?”

“Are-are you about to be homophobic when my zombie fucking ex-boyfriend is trying to break down the door?”

“What?” Tom shook his head, “No, I don’t give a shit if you’re gay.”

“Like, traditionally Waystar is kind of conservative,” Greg muttered. 

“I think even if I was going to tell you that you were going to hell for it, I might wait until Dawn of the fucking Dead out there was quiet.”

“He’ll be gone before morning,” Greg said, and Tom got the impression that it was the end of the conversation. Guess he wasn’t the only one dragging baggage around. Maybe it was a requirement to work here. You had to put it on your resume. 

“I was kind of a dick before,” Tom said, “About all of this. I just, I didn’t want to believe it. I’m fucking pissed Logan sent me out here, and I’m pissed Shiv didn’t stop him.”

“I’m sorry man,” Greg replied, “If that helps.”

“Not really. You guys are freaks out here. But I suppose I can understand why.”

“Thanks,” Greg said, not sounding remotely thankful, “You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

Another bang outside. Tom put a hand on Greg’s arm. He was shit at showing any kind of comfort, but he thought it might help if someone touched him, even something simple, just to show they were there, if it were him. Greg didn’t pull away. 

(Shiv did sometimes. But the Roys never were big on affection, and he was learning to do things the way Shiv liked now and not to take offense at it.)

“Thanks man,” Greg said, “Sorry you got the short end of the stick and stuck out here.”

“It’s alright,” Tom replied, even though it wasn’t and it was even worse than he thought it was, “I guess I can see why you didn’t think I’d be able to shut this place down. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Greg smiled. He put his head down on his arm and sighed, “Probably."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> appreciate ya as always!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom talks to Shiv, wines and dines Greg, and tries to figure it all out.

Tom spent two weeks away from the station. 

He wasn’t sure why really, but he needed time to process things. 

“You sound like you’re fond of the fucking place,” Shiv said, not quite annoyed, but not quite kind either. She was in Philadelphia for work, and he could hear, faintly in the background, what sounded like an office or something, “You’re not seriously considering telling Dad to keep it?”

“It’s complicated Shiv,” he said, and that was the fucking understatement of the century, “I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?”

“Sure.”

“You haven’t fucked one of the women that works there?”

“Jesus Shiv, no,” he said. 

“I’m just saying that we’re adults, Tom. If you do something while you’re there, it’s alright.”

This was definitely not a conversation he wanted to be having eight now. It felt so _human_ in the midst of all this inhuman shit. And what had brought this on? 

“Just a last bit before we get married,” she said, and he could hear her smile, “If that’s what’s on your mind, you should go ahead. We’re grownups, and we’ll handle it like grownups.”

“Right.”

“What do I tell Dad about this?”

He was glad she was changing the topic if nothing else. He didn’t know what else to say about it.

“Tell him it’s more complicated than I thought. There’s over fifty years of history and information to catalog. I want to do it right.”

“You can’t just gut the place?”

“Not easily.” 

What the fuck had this conversation turned into? What was Shiv doing while he was in Washington?

“Guess you’ll be stuck there,” she laughed, “Look I have to go. Is there something I can help with?”

“No. I’ll let you go.”

“You’re sure.”

“Uh huh. Talk to you later.”

He hung up before she could respond. He had hoped that hearing Shiv’s voice would somehow break the spell of this place. Would remind him of his _actual_ life, away from whatever cursed land this town was situated on, and whatever monsters lurked in the woods.

He called Greg. There wasn’t a real reason for it, other than he wanted to physically talk to and see someone he somewhat liked, and not think about Shiv for the night. 

“Hello?”

“Hello Gregory. It’s me.”

“Oh. Hey man.”

“Listen, are you busy tonight at the station? I’m desperate to interact with the one percent.”

“Uh. Not really no. Where did you want to go?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“I kind of thought you were calling me to tell me you were closing us down.”

“No. Just trying to be friendly. See you later. I’ll text you. Goodbye.”

This felt a little like revenge. If Shiv thought he was going to cheat on her he’d just have to wine and dine the only person he’d met so far who seemed to like him well enough. Sure, he was a guy, and sure he was technically Shiv’s cousin, and it was unlikely he’d even tell her about it, but it satisfied some nasty desire to get back at her. It was the part of himself he didn’t really like, the vindictive asshole part.

But that didn’t stop him from doing so, and didn't stop him taking Greg to a place that didn’t even put prices on the menu, and charging it to his card. Didn’t stop him one bit.

“Does Grandpa Ewan know about this place?” he asked. Greg poked at his dinner while they spoke.

“Not really, like the other stuff. Just that it’s radio,” Greg shrugged, “I don’t think he would believe it. I told my mom a little bit, but I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m just on drugs. ”

“Are you?”

“Not hard ones. Not enough to make me see ghosts.”

“Yeah. I don’t think anybody would believe me either. If I told them. Which I won’t.”

“Why not? I mean. It would be enough to end your stint here early. Probably Uncle Logan would like to hear that his brother’s grandson was crazy,” Greg frowned. He seemed frightfully out of place in a restaurant of this caliber

(even though Tom thought he looked the part. Kind of like James Bond. He actually realized Greg was kind of… attractive and he wouldn't mind going a little further with him. But that was not something he was going to deal with right now.)

and Tom didn’t really blame him, but if Greg was going to be a Roy, he was going to have to act the part, and when this ended, Tom would bring him back to New York and he would be forced to act like his family.

“Because you’re _not_ crazy, unless I’ve gone crazy too. And I’ve got a morbid curiosity I guess. I want to know what’s going on.”

“I don’t know why. It’s just scary.”

“Aw are you scared of the ghosts Greg?”

“Shut up,” Greg smiled, “Hey I meant to tell you the other day, after the visits, but thanks for not mentioning it to the others.”

“Sure,” Tom shrugged, “I didn’t think I’d like others to know if it was me.”

“Yeah.”

“Were you two, I mean, were you guys serious or?”

“Pretty serious,” Greg furrowed his eyebrows. Tom was touching on a subject he didn’t want to talk about, that was obvious, “Are you going to make me unpack all my trauma?”

“Maybe the ghost is just a manifestation of your fears,” Tom picked up his wine glass, “Have you ever considered that.”

Greg gaped at him. 

“I’m fucking with you,” he took a sip of his wine-- finally some good stuff, “I saw it all too. And try as I might I can’t come up with a logical explanation. Some kind of shared hallucination maybe, but I don’t really think so.”

“Just the wind?”

“Yeah. Just the wind.”

“Scully.”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, “I’ll be Scully.”

“You want to come to the station tomorrow? We uh, we have to go out, down to one of the campsites. We got some calls about shitty signals and static. We’re gonna look for the source. I think it’s probably just a downed wire or a messed up receiver, but we have to check.”

“You do realize how much this feels like the beginning of a horror movie?”

“No, I know it does. But it’s technically our job, and besides, none of us want to involve anybody else. You don’t like, have to come if you don’t want to. It might be an overnight. Depending.”

“You’re going to _sleep_ in the woods? Are you suicidal?’

“Not particularly? It just, it needs to be done. You don’t have to come.”

“No I do. You’re going to get your ass killed. I can just sense it. Besides, if you have technical skills to fix radio signals, it might help your case for staying open, or at least getting a solid job in New York.”

“I can’t put ghost babysitting on my resume?”

“Greg, you’re a dumbass. What should I bring tomorrow? Rain boots? Holy water? A crucifix? Wooden stakes?”

“Vampires aren’t real Tom.” Greg shook his head, “This isn’t Dracula.”

“Well forgive me for not being up to date on which fucking monsters are real and which aren’t.”

“Just hiking clothes. Most of the stuff the station already has. We’ll probably have to get out of the car. I’ll get you a rifle tomorrow. Have you ever been hunting?”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s like that.”

“That’s incredibly unnerving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a bit since i plugged my tumblr but you can find me [here](https://feuillytheflorist.tumblr.com)!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg get ready to go out into the woods and Tom sort of wants to prove himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween friends!

The next morning, on his drive to the station, Tom was very much regretting his decision to agree. It wasn’t raining, that was _something_ , but the clouds were dark in the sky, and there was thunder in the forecast. He had called Shiv to tell her he might be unavailable while they were out in the woods, and she had seemed surprised he had agreed to it. Maybe it would be good to be unreachable for a night. He needed to think.

It wasn’t the threat of rain that was making him uneasy, but the possibility of what might be in the woods. Sure it was probably nothing. Something knocked loose by a storm or the wind, easily solved. But what if it wasn’t? The last time he’d gone hiking had ended in tragedy, and he had little desire to repeat that. 

So why had he agreed? He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to figure that out. 

He pulled into the drive and pulled his bag out of the backseat. He wasn’t an outdoor person, and had spent the early morning buying several things at the local outdoor store. Greg and Jonah were out front talking when he got out. Greg had a rifle slung across his back and the two of them had a map open in front of them.

“I didn’t think you were actually coming,” Jonah said, “You don’t seem like a hiking person.”

“Oh come on. I’m from the Midwest. We’re all outdoorsy there. It’s in our blood.”

“Right,” Jonah chuckled, “You guys have everything?”

“I think so,” Greg picked up his backpack from the ground, “Water. Food, first aid kit. There’s sleeping rolls and a tent in the truck for the worst case. With the map, compass, flashlights. I think we’re good.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Tom said. He felt kind of like a captain rallying the troops for war. They looked up at him and didn’t speak and he sort of thought that he was interrupting them. That he was the odd one out here, “Just the shit weather you guys get up here.”

“Probably,” Greg folded the map back up and tucked it into his jacket, “That’s probably it.”

“Or it’s a ghost of a serial killer,” Jonah smiled, and Tom was _pretty_ sure he was the butt of Jonah’s joke, “Either one. Toss up really.”

“Come on man,” Greg shook his head, “Don’t torture the guy. He’s new.”

“Are you deigning to join us?” Tom asked. 

“No,” Jonah shook his head, “Mike and Sam had to go to Portland to pick up new sound equipment we bought off Craigslist. I have to stay here. Have fun in the woods you two.”

“You have to do the weekly kitchen clean though,” Greg said, calling after Jonah as he went inside. Jonah flipped him off and the door shut behind him. 

“What would you have done if I said no?” Tom asked. 

“Made Mike and Sam stay here and let them draw straws to see who got to come,” Greg replied simply, “Dump your bag in the car. I’ll drive.”

“Oh a chauffeur. How fancy.”

“Yeah, no offense man, I just don’t think you can drive off road.”

Tom smacked him on the shoulder on the way to the passenger seat. He set his own backpack down and Greg got into the truck as well. He adjusted the mirrors and looked over at Tom.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Greg shook his head, “I’m just kind of surprised you decided to come.”

“I’ll have you know I used to camp all the time when I was a child,” Tom said, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t something he wanted to discuss, especially not now with Greg. But he said it before he could think too much. Like he was trying to prove to Greg that maybe he had a white collar job in the city, but he was just as capable as Greg was. 

And that was just fucked up. Trying to prove himself to another fucking Roy and this one couldn’t even do anything for him. It was a waste of energy.

(But he wanted Greg to have a good impression of him. Maybe just because Greg didn’t know him like the other Roys did, he could have a clean slate to maybe have some kind of normal adult friendship with him.)

“Oh yeah?” Greg backed out onto the driveway and turned around to drive out. He handed Tom the map, “That’s where we’re going.”

“What exactly are you expecting?”

“A downed antenna or tower or something I guess,” Greg said, “Probably just that. We’ll find it and I’ll call the power company I guess. I don’t know if I’m like, legally qualified to fix it.”

“What, you don’t want to get electrified?”

“Ha,” Greg turned on the radio to their station. Jonah had put on some classical music, and Greg tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, not quite in time to the music. The road was bumpy, but not unbearable, and Tom tried his best to follow along on the map. 

“What ah, what do we do if it wasn’t just the storm?”

They had passed at least twenty minutes in silence. Tom hated it a little. It was too tense. 

“Oh,” Greg frowned, and rubbed at the windshield with his sleeve, “I don’t know. I hope it’s nothing.”

“But what if it’s _not_?”

“I really don’t know. Try to fix it if we can, then get the hell out?”

“I don’t really want to get killed by a monster in the woods,” Tom propped his elbow up on the door, “I’m getting married when I go home.”

“Yeah I mean. I also would like to not get killed.” Greg shook his head, “I don’t like these clouds. We might have to spend the night if it rains as bad as it looks like it will. These roads are dangerous as hell when it’s storming and I’m not driving in it.”

“It’s a campsite though isn’t it?”

“Uh huh. I told Jonah if we weren’t back by ten we were spending the night, and if we weren’t back by ten _tomorrow_ to call the search and rescue ‘cause we were probably dead.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tom whipped around to look at him, “Are you kidding?”

“Well,” Greg laughed, and Tom smacked him on the shoulder again, “Mostly yeah. But I did tell him if we weren’t back by tomorrow night something must have happened.”

“What happens if you leave the radio station alone?”

“Mm,” Greg seemed to shiver slightly, “If no one’s there and one of them comes looking… they’ll get angry. Go into town maybe. I kinda feel like we’re the last line of defense you know? But it’s good to keep the light burning. Out here it’s so dark. I don’t know. Who knows what’s looking for light in the dark? I know the scary shit, I mean maybe we keep the scary shit at bay, but the poor fuckers trapped on the road-- we have to be there to help. The old boss, who was in charge when I first got here said it was the duty of a radio station to shine in the face of evil. I used to think he was talking about, like, censorship. Maybe like facism in, like, a righteous kinda way. Like oh yeah this machine kills fascists but it’s just a radio, but now I’m pretty sure he meant something a little more hellish. The first way would have made my mom happier I think.”

“So you’re saying it might be disastrous.”

“Dead air,” Greg said, glancing over at him, “Just sounds bad doesn’t it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> greg did the thing were you say the title of the work _in_ the work


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg try to figure out the source of the signal problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all had a safe and fun halloween/samhain/night!

They arrived at the campsite after what felt like several hours. Tom more and more was noticing that away from town, the time seemed to pass differently. The afternoon in the shed was a small sample of the way time was. The nights Tom had spent at the station had raced by. Not just in a normal way, in the way that he looked down to read a magazine, or try and get the station’s computer to work, and when he’d look up, an hour or two would have passed.

It never seemed to phaze Greg. But then again, not really anything did. 

The campsite was worn, like most of the things here. Several cabins were stationed around a center clearly meant for grilling and fire pits, and though he didn’t see any campers, there were a few cars in the parking lot, so he figured they must be out farther, maybe in a place more suited for tents. 

He looked away from the cabins quickly. Something sent a chill down his spine, and he made a mental note to tell Greg he was not fucking sleeping in one of those.

“Here,” Greg pulled a rifle out of the back and handed it over. Tom slid the strap over his shoulder, “It’s pretty close. Half an hour hike maybe. You good to go?”

“Uh huh.” 

The walk was quiet. He thought maybe Greg was nervous. He kept glancing around, kept pulling on his jacket and fixing his hat, but Greg was also a talker, and his silence was odd. Tom didn’t blame him really. The sky was darkening, thunderheads loomed in the distance and absolutely nothing protected them from the elements or anything else. 

The hike felt good. He’d missed it, apparently, despite all that happened. Maybe it was good, if nothing else, to get back to nature for a bit. He wasn’t quite in the same shape he’d been as a kid, but still. These were different woods, and that was a long time ago 

(the voice on the phone wasn’t so long ago though, and it was just a couple of hours away and maybe the dark had always been following him anyway)

and he was more rational now. He could deal with situations without hiding under his covers and crying.

“It’s just another five minutes or so,” Greg called behind him, “You good back there? I know you’re more of a city guy.”

“Fuck off Greg.”

He heard Greg chuckle.

Maybe this was friendship. That would be nice. Even when he figured out what to do, he’d drag Greg up the corporate ladder with him. Logan probably wouldn’t mind. Greg was family still. 

He jogged a bit to catch up with Greg and they made their way through the trees to more of a clearing. 

Frankly, Tom didn’t know all that much about radio. He listened to it in the car sometimes, or at the gym if it was playing, but he couldn’t have explained to you how radios actually functioned or the ins and outs of radio waves. But he was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to be knocked over.

“I see,” Greg said, pausing, “I guess that’s probably the problem.”

The tower was ripped up out of the ground. Dirt covered the ground, with bits of grass. It lay on its size, huge dents in the metal, and some of the metal bent out. Ripped apart, was the phrase that came to Tom’s mind, like something bending jail bars in an old cartoon. He was sure that radio towers probably fell. There were strong winds in the bad storms, but wind didn’t rip things out of the ground, chuck them into the air and rip them open.

A tree-- maybe one it had knocked over-- lay fallen as well, cracked in half. 

“Probably not the storm then,” Tom said. His voice sounded hoarse and waverly. He couldn’t blame it. This was horrific. 

“No,” Greg shook his head. They had both been hopeful, he realized, that it was a mundane answer. Kind of stupid actually, given everything but hopeful nonetheless, “Probably not.”

“We should go?”

“Yeah,” Greg took a step back cautiously, “I think we probably should.”

“It looks… thrown.”

“Uh huh,” Greg shifted his rifle, “It does.”

“And bent.”

“That too.”

Thunder banged in the distance, and Tom jumped this time. Greg put a hand on his arm. He took several deep breaths. Just thunder. That was, fortunately, very explicable. Just thunder. 

“What could have done that?” he asked.

“Yeah man, I don’t, uh, I don’t fucking know.”

“I’d like to go Greg.”

“Yeah. So would I. You go down first. I’ll stick behind you.”

He heard Greg cock his gun, and Tom turned and started to make his way down. Turning his back on the mess in the clearing made him a little nervous, but he actually trusted Greg to have his back, and the desire to be far, far away from it outweighed his fear.

Greg talked the entire fucking walk. He talked about the time he’d been a Boy Scout and had gone camping for the first time, and he talked about his mother, and his grandfather, and the things he liked to watch on TV. 

“You watch dumb shit,” Tom said. He didn’t turn to talk to Greg. The thought of looking behind him wasn’t very appealing, but Greg’s voice was nice and calm, “Do you watch real adult programming as well? The news? Your uncle runs one of the largest news networks in the country.”

“My grandpa says that ATN is a cancer on American society. He said if he caught me watching it he’d write me out of his will.”

“I can see the Roy in him now.”

Greg laughed, “Yeah. I mean it’s fine. ATN, I mean. It’s pretty toxic.”

“I’m hoping Shiv can get me a job there,” he said. But now he wasn’t so sure. How did one return to normal life after this? What was he going to do? Call Logan and tell him the radio station was worth keeping? Logan would laugh in his face. Shut it and face the consequences? Return to New York and pretend it had been shitty for normal reasons, like the bad food and shitty weather? How did you come back from this, “That’s the nucleus of Waystar I think. The center.”

“It’s the mitochondria that’s the powerhouse though,” Greg said. 

“Idiot,” Tom called back. It was starting to rain, fat drops landing on his sleeve and his face. He wiped some of them away. His hand came back red. 

“Greg-”

“I know,” Greg said, “It’s not real.”

“What the _fuck_ do you mean it’s not real?” Tom stopped walking, staring at his blood covered hand. More rain was falling, strangely warm, falling down his cheeks, onto his jacket. 

“Something wants our attention,” Greg caught up with him and grabbed his shoulder, “Just pretend you don’t see it. It’s only raining Tom. Right? Only rain. It rains all the time here.”

Tom swallowed and nodded. He wiped his hand on his jeans and kept walking. He wiped the _rain_ from his face, focused on Greg’s hand touching his arm, focused on Greg’s new story about his math teacher in school. 

“What does this mean?” Tom asked quietly. He could see the campsites in the distance. It was colder now, and a swipe at his face revealed that it was rain again. No blood on his jeans, on his jacket. As if it hadn’t happened.

“I don’t know. Something didn’t like us up there. I really don’t know.”

They finished the walk in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg make plans to wait out the night at the campsite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic now has a spotify playlist, found [ here ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3SWBbzOTCb7VCOIdvr2zL0?si=PNlv_4hvRTWFx54pSV6kew) i'm still working on updating it!

After an assessment of the rainclouds and the thunder growing louder in the distance, they both decided that staying here was safer than trying to drive back. The dark had come early-- actually it had come on time, the hike had just lasted five hours when it should have taken at most two. Tom decided not to question it. Tom wanted to drive back, but the storm was getting worse, and there were no lights on the road. At least the campsite had electricity and indoor plumbing. It wasn’t his home on the East Coast, but it was better than nothing.

“I talked to the guy that runs it,” Greg returned to the car. Tom was examining his jacket in the side mirror, looking for any trace of blood. There weren’t any, “He said all the cabins are free so we can stay. Everybody else is out in tents. I put in on the corporate card. Sorry.”

“I don’t do your fucking expenses who fucking cares,” Tom replied, “Is there everything in the back?”

“Yeah. Are you hungry? It’s kinda late. Time was extra messed up today.”

“Yeah. I can help?”

“Sure.”

He followed Greg around to the trunk, where Greg pulled several things out onto the ground. Tom picked up some of the chairs, and one of the bags. 

“Good thing you were a Boy Scout,” Tom said.

“Yeah good thing.”

They carried the things towards the picnic tables. It wasn’t full dark yet, but the lights were already on. The rain had subsided slightly, but the area was covered anyway. Greg dug around for a while pulling out food and drinks.

“Jonah packed us wine,” Greg held up the bottle, “Want?”

“Jonah finally proving his worth.” Tom took the bottle and popped it open, “Wish it was stronger.”

“I think there are, like, joints in the car,” Greg said. He brought the armfull of food under the roof, poked at the stove to figure it out, and then pulled a lighter from his pocket, “If you want.”

“Maybe later. You want these papers?”

“Yeah I need something to light. The food is kind of shitty. Sorry.”

“Yeah I don’t actually care right now.”

“I can cook.”

“How domestic. What other tricks do you know?”

Greg laughed, “Set up the chairs will you? I think the rain might hold till later.”

He agreed, and went back, popping open the chairs. The tables were pretty clean and he brushed off a little bit of the rain, and set the bottle down. There weren’t any glasses that he could use for the wine, but that was whatever at this point. 

“My speciality,” Greg returned with two paper plates. He set one down in front of Tom and smiled, “Nachos.”

“When are you opening your restaurant Julia Child?”

He was glad Greg was back. He wasn’t enjoying being alone so much, not after the tower and the blood and the phone call and Greg’s zombie ex and the ghosts and everything. Greg’s company was kind of nice. Comforting in a way.

They both dug in. Clearly the hike and adrenaline had used up all their energy, and they scarfed down their meals in silence. Tom didn’t even care how cheap and greasy it was. It was food and that was enough. 

“You know how to build a fire?” Greg asked. 

“You sound like you don’t think I can.”

“I’m only asking. Don’t get mad at me.”

“I’ll do it,” Tom stood up, “Give me your lighter.”

In truth, he hadn’t built a fire in a good thirty years, but he hoped it would be like riding a bike otherwise he was about to make an ass out of himself in front of Greg, who was eying him over his dinner. 

Thankfully, there was already a fire pit, covered, to keep out the rain. It seemed well kept and after some paper and a few lights, it caught and the fire blazed before them. 

“See?” Tom turned and held out a hand with a flourish, “Easy.”

“Show off,” Greg stifled a yawn, “Did you want to stay up tonight? Or sleep in one of those cabins.”

“I’m not fucking sleeping tonight are you kidding? I’m never sleeping again.”

“Oh ok,” Greg nodded, “I’m, like, pretty tired though.”

“You can sleep if you want. You’re a big boy. I’m just going to sit up for a while.”

“Ok man,” Greg said. 

It was growing cold, with the sun’s sinking behind the trees. They finished dinner quietly, and Tom took one of the chairs by the fire, pulling his jacket tighter around him. After a moment in which Greg looked like he was deciding what to do, he came over and sat in the other chair. 

“Want?” Tom held out the wine bottle but Greg shook his head, “Suit yourself.” 

“What should be done about that?” Greg asked, “Like I feel, like morally bad asking someone to come fix it when like, it was thrown across the field. Imagine what that thing could do to a person?”

“I’d like to _not_ be thinking about that right now actually. But thank you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Tom said. Greg stifled another yawn, “You can go to sleep if you want to.”

“No no,” Greg said, “I’m fine.”

“Go to sleep. I’m staying up anyway.” 

The fire was warm and bright, and Tom felt a little bit like cavemen, who would light fires to keep the animals away, the only light for miles and miles away. This was a little different sure, but humanity hadn’t really changed all that much. Fire made you feel safer. 

In five minutes flat, Greg had fallen asleep, head falling on Tom’s shoulder. He resisted the urge to push him off and back into his own space. It wasn’t too bad really. He was a little concerned-- not that he’d ever admit it-- about Greg’s sleeping habits. Whatever the fuck was going on here was messed up, no doubt, and Greg was clearly playing martyr about the whole thing, trying to solve it all. Maybe that was just a Roy family trait.

And even if Logan didn’t like his brother, he always said that family was everything and Greg _was_ family. Did he have a duty to make sure the kid made it through this horror movie?

(Or, maybe he didn’t mind Greg sleeping on his shoulder, didn’t mind looking after him because he _liked_ Greg. Liked Greg a lot. In ways that he wasn’t sure he wanted to address just now.)

So he shifted in his seat a bit, careful not to wake Greg up, focused his attention on the fire, and made plans to wait out the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg have a late night talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy (is that the right word?) election day to my fellow americans. If you're out voting today please stay safe. i know today is stressful. take care of yourself!

Tom was pretty sure he hadn’t fallen asleep. Dozed off maybe, but not fallen asleep completely. The storm was audible in the distance, maybe a mile or so away. They were lucky-- he wasn’t sure it was all luck, but it was more… optimistic to think that way-- that the storm had mostly held around the campsite, but maybe it had been good to stay. These roads were so dangerous when it _wasn’t_ raining. 

(He also had a brief vision of something running their car off the road. Whether or not the… thing wanted them here or wanted them to get the hell out, he wasn’t sure. Both were equally horrible in their own way.)

But this felt alright. By the fire-- though it was beginning to die-- it was alright. 

The noise echoed again. Must have been what woke him up. A strange chopping sound running through the forest, the sound of metal on wood. Tom sat up straighter, tried to focus. It was hard to make the noise out between the rain and thunder in the distance, but it was out of place. And Tom had become hyper aware of things that weren’t where they belonged. 

He shook Greg slightly, accidentally jolting him awake.

“Wha?” Greg was still half asleep and squinted at Tom in the dark. 

“Do you hear that?” Tom whispered, “Sounds like an axe.”

Greg pushed himself up, rubbed his eyes and frowned. A gust of wind blew through, and Tom rubbed his hands together.

“Logging,” Greg said, “It sounds like logging.”

“In the middle of the fucking night?” Tom shook his head, “Are you joking?”

“Probably nothing,” Greg covered his yawn with his hand, “Just old ghosts. I wouldn’t worry about them. Sometimes like, they’re just left behind. I don’t think they’ll hurt us.”

“Oh yeah. Just some ghosts? Probably nothing? Fuck off.” 

“You can sleep in the car if you want. What time is it?”

Tom squinted at his watch in the dark, “Almost three. I think I fell asleep a little bit. You’re a heavy sleeper.”

“Ha. Yeah. You’re kind of a nice pillow.”

(Tom felt himself redden. Greg had been so close to him. Sleeping--literally sleeping-- with someone was so fucking intimate. Why did he want to make Greg sit back down and go back to sleep, just to feel his weight?)

“Great. Thanks. You think we could drive back?” 

The sound of a tree falling somewhere echoed down. Both of them turned to look, but the forest was a dark mass of shape and nothing else. Tom didn’t like how the shapes seemed to move if he looked at them for too long. He turned back to look at Greg.

“The rain seems to have moved off,” Greg rolled his shoulders, “I guess we could probably go. I kind of think that if we go, we won’t get back until we’re supposed to. Does that make sense?”

“Uh huh. Like how the rain was supposed to pour, we made the choice to stay, and it hasn’t been that bad here. But how if we got on the road it probably would have poured?”

“Just like that. Yeah.”

“Do you know what’s going on Greg?”

“Not really no.”

“I thought this was like, the one thing you were good at?”

Greg looked at him, clearly hurt. Clearly Tom’s ability to be nasty hadn’t changed. What was he hoping to accomplish? Stop Greg from getting too close? Try and gauge the potential? Think about literally anything besides this?

“Yeah well like, this is new.”

“Not really.”

“What?”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. The chopping noise had increased, and he was beginning to get a headache. 

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” Tom said, and he found that he really meant it. Greg didn’t _need_ to know, especially since Tom hadn’t even told Shiv, but with everything going on, the ghosts and time skips and the warped reality and whatever hellish monstrosities were able to throw radio towers twenty feet away, he kind of thought Greg might want to know. Like Greg could help him somehow. 

(Actually it was probably just a few simple facts. One, was that you couldn't keep shit like that in forever. Not when the dark was coming for you again. And two, out of everybody Tom had ever met, Greg seemed like the most logical person to tell, the person who would believe him. Not like the police, and the doctors and even his mother had tried to tell him otherwise. Three, he liked Greg. Liked Greg a lot. That was all.)

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, “Yeah I am. But not till the morning. I’m not talking about that shit in the dark.”

“Ok Tom,” Greg said softly. Too kindly. Tom fucking hated it. 

“Go back to sleep dumbass,” Tom said, “There’s no use driving back in the dark.”

It would give him time to think about what exactly he was going to tell Greg, to remember the details of a story he had spent his entire adult life trying to forget. 

Not to pat himself on the back too much, but Tom thought he’d done a good job acting as if nothing had happened. That he was a completely normal person, with a completely normal past where nothing extraordinary happened. The accident-- that’s what he’d called it for the most part-- was something that could have happened to anybody. Shiv had never pressed, and he’d never had to address it to anyone else. 

So why was Greg so special? Because there was no other option? 

That was easier to sit with. He was going to tell Greg because all this shit was staring him in the face, and it was _logical_ to tell Greg. He was certainly _not_ telling Greg because he liked the guy and because he _trusted_ Greg with this piece of information.

That was certainly not it. Greg was convenient, and Greg would maybe be able to tell him something about what had happened. Tom had always blamed himself for what had happened. Everybody had said it wasn’t his fault, and he knew that his aunt didn’t blame him but that didn’t change things. It was his fault.

The logging didn’t stop. But he thought Greg was probably right. They were just old ghosts, they wouldn’t hurt anything.

There were much worse things in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Shiv talk before heading back to Greg's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you had an ok election night, if you're in america! remember to take care of yourselves! times are stressful.

In the morning-- God, Tom had never so badly wanted a morning to come in his life-- they shoved everything into the truck and took off. The rain had gone, and the clouds broke on the horizon. Even the sun was peeking through. That had to be a good thing.

They drove mostly in silence. When they had a signal he texted Shiv, and then tucked his phone away. 

“Did you want to come back to my place?” Greg asked. He looked tired in this light. Tom was sure he probably looked like shit as well, “And talk I mean? About whatever it is.”

“That’s very forward of you. I’m engaged.”

Greg sputtered, “No that’s not what I-”

“Relax. I’m kidding. You’re so fucking nervous about everything. But sure.”

“I think maybe you knew something about this,” Greg said. He stared straight ahead at the road, not, Tom thought, because he needed to pay attention, but because he didn’t want to look over at Tom, “Not, like, this specific instance. But you knew sometimes bad things lived in the woods and maybe you just didn’t want to believe it.”

“Are you _psychoanalyzing_ me?”

“No. I’m just saying that I think something happened to you, something you can’t really explain and this is kind of like that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tom said, even though Greg _did_ know what he was talking about. Knew very well. He just hated it. Hated that everything he had left in his childhood was creeping back into the foreground. He was an established man. He had a good job, went to a good college, and his fiancée came from one of the wealthiest families in the world. He wasn't a little kid who believed in ghost stories and monsters in the woods. 

(But then how did he explain everything? How did he explain the growing fear in his stomach that the dark had re emerged here, had been following him all his life, waiting for an in.)

“I mean like, it’s alright to have stuft you can’t really explain happening to you.”

“You mean like having your dead ex pouding on the door to get in?”

Greg winced, and Tom knew he’d said the wrong thing. Deflecting worked alright with Shiv and the Roys, throwing it back at them, but it hadn’t landed right with Greg. 

“Sorry,” he said, “That was mean.”

“It’s fine,” Greg said tightly. He turned on the radio, and after several tense moments, the static gave way to the station, and it was just loud enough to tell Tom that Greg didn’t want to talk. 

“I am sorry,” Tom said again, “I don’t have any right to talk about that with you. I just-I think I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

“It’s fine,” Greg said again. A little nicer this time. Tom took it for what it was worth, “It’s fucked up. All of it. So. I don’t know. This place is just… not right. And it’s getting worse. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.”

When they pulled into the station, Greg left him without a word. Tom thought about getting out of the car, but decided against it. He watched Greg go into the station. The other car was back, meaning that Mike and Sam must have returned from Portland with the new equipment. He waited ten minutes or so. Fiddled with the radio. Bounced his leg up and down.

Shiv called. He had forgotten he’d even texted her, and the ringing of his phone scared him. He pulled the phone out and answered.

“Camping didn’t kill you then?”

“Ha,” he replied, “No, I’m still alive. ”

“What was the problem?”

“Storm took out a tower,” he lied. It was an easy lie, and one she would never suspect of being untrue, “Gonna have to have it fixed. I guess they’re responsible for the upkeep.”

“You like this place. Why?”

“It’s got a charm about it I suppose. Like a Mom and Pop shop.”

“You mean the kind of stores dad buys without thinking and turns into mini Waystars?”

“Yeah. Like those.” 

“Why are you bothering with all this Tom? What’s there that’s got your attention? When you left you said maybe a month? Shut the thing down and come home. I don’t understand.”

“It’s complicated Shiv honey.” How would he even begin to tell her this? She wouldn’t believe him even if he did anyway, “The town likes this station. And Greg is your cousin after all. It’s more than I thought it was going to be.”

“So get him a job in New York. Dad says there’s a place in tourism when you come home, a good starting spot. I can probably get you into ATN after six months or so. Take him with you.”

Tourism was good. Could work. It was better, realistically, than this. A place on the inside. What he wanted. What he had wanted for years now. All because he’d agreed to do the dirty work Logan hadn’t wanted to. 

“I’ll be done here soon,” Tom said, though _soon_ was vague and probably not true, “Alright? Tell Logan I’ll be done soon.”

“Alright.”

“I gotta go. Talk later.”

He hung up before Shiv could respond. He was definitely in trouble back home, but the drama of the Roys and the pressure of his job and the real reason he was here seemed incredibly insignificant after the past weeks. Eventually, probably sooner rather than later, Logan was going to grow tired of his stalling, and give him an ultimatum. Close the place down, come home, and move on or stay here and forget that promised job and definitely forget Shiv’s hand. 

“You good man?” Greg asked, when he returned. 

“Uh huh. So, we’re going to the humble abode of one Gregory Hirsch?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda small. Sorry.”

“Are you apologizing for your lack of wealth?”

“I mean it’s better than before which was at my mom’s house and then in a motel.”

“Dear God I hope it’s better than that.” Tom paused, “I really am sorry about before. I never apologize this much, so you’re really getting the most apologetic I’m ever going to be.”

“It’s alright,” Greg turned to look at him, “Really it is. Like, it’s kind of tense. And there’s like, monsters in the forest. Like it’s fine.”

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom tells a story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think giving characters tragic backgrounds is just neat

Greg's place was nice, if a little small and crowded for Tom’s taste. Most of the appliances looked about a decade or so out of date, and Greg wasn’t a very good housekeeper. He picked a box up off one of the kitchen tables and set it to the side so Tom could sit. 

(Tom briefly wondered what Greg’s _bedroom_ looked like before shooing the thought away. That was not appropriate.)

“Want coffee?” Greg asked.

“No,” Tom replied, “Not now. Thanks.”

Greg shrugged, and took a seat opposite Tom. On the table, he had piles of unopened mail and what looked like bills, as well as various chargers and cables, and a couple of empty beer cans. Tom pulled the nearest envelope towards him. It seemed to be one of those sent by credit cards, trying to get you to open another.

“Do you hoard junk mail?”

“I just haven’t been home that much I guess.”

Tom was avoiding talking, even though he’d been the one to promise he was going to. He didn’t get the impression that Greg would force him into talking. 

“Man, like, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s ok,” Greg said, “Like I get it. But this shit- this shit is getting worse. And if you have any idea, I mean, let’s hear it.”

Tom had never actively told this story to anybody, not since he’d been in the hospital as a kid, and his mother had been crying, and everybody had said he was in shock, and didn’t know what he was talking about. That was the last time he’d said anything beyond the story that had been printed. Not even to his aunt. It was easier to pretend. 

If Greg didn’t believe him, if Greg laughed him off, Tom was getting back on an airplane, and going to New York, and fuck this radio station and everything that went along with it and he was never looking back. That, he knew for sure.

“When I was about fourteen,” Tom said, each word slow and thought out. He almost had to force them out of his mouth. Like the story didn’t want to be told, wanted to live and fester inside of him until it either died or he exploded, “We used to have this cabin, update. My uncle owned it, and we’d got for weekends you know, to camp or fish or whatever. It was a quiet little place, away from St. Paul. Kind of out of the way, and a real family place.”

He thought briefly, of the house in the Hamptons the Roys owned. The cabin had been nothing like that. Probably a third the size, maybe smaller, but it had been a second home just the same. They sold it that winter, and he’d never been back. 

“One weekend, it was late October I suppose. My mom had a big case she couldn’t miss-- she’s a lawyer-- so it was just my aunt, uncle, and I. My aunt had gone off to bed, so my uncle and I were up, just talking I guess. Male bonding,” he chuckled slightly, “That’s what he would have called it. He heard a noise outside. An animal, he thought. But he wanted to check to be sure, so he got the gun, and went outside. I waited, like he told me too, because he was just going to peek, maybe fire a round or two to scare it off. But he didn’t come back and I got scared.”

“You were a kid,” Greg said, “I’d be scared too.”

Tom ignored him, “I didn’t want to wake my aunt up, because I thought I was being stupid. I went outside after him with the flashlight, you know, calling out for him as I did. I don’t really know what I was expecting to find, but I go to the treeline. I see this, I don’t know, shape out of the side of my eye. I knew it was just the dark playing tricks. But I see him, on the ground, blood just fucking everywhere. I ran over to see, thinking it was a bear or something. He’s almost… ripped open. He tells me to run. To go back and stay there, but I’m frozen, because I’d never seen that much blood at one time. It was horrific.”

He broke off and stole a glance up at Greg, who was watching him with a face of pure neutrality. The man had a poker face, that was for sure. He must have inherited it from the Roy half of his family. 

“There were these long scrapes down his chest, like claws. But deeper. I see the shape again, can feel it come up beside me. I’m practically pissing myself at this point. I’d never been so scared. I don’t look, but book it back inside, hands and legs covered in blood. I wake up my aunt, and she goes outside, yelling at me to stay there. I do for a bit. I guess between fight or flight I chose flight. But I hear her scream and I know I have to do something. Running back in had been a mistake, I know that. I shouldn't have been scared, should have done _something_ to try and help.”

“Jesus Tom.”

“I run back out, and my aunt’s practically insane, screaming out of her mind about it. My uncle’s dead. I don’t have to be a fucking doctor to see it. She’s shouting, and the… the dark is staring back at us, like daring us to get closer. It was, fuck if I know, just a mass of darkness. Like a liquid or smoke or something. And before I can do anything, it jumps on me. I don’t remember that much else. I think my aunt ripped me back. Like those mothers you hear about that fucking, throw cars off their kids. But next thing I knew I was in the hospital. They said it was a bear because it was the easiest to explain I think. It was in all the papers and stuff, but I was a minor, so they left my name out of it and it was chalked up to an unfortunate accident. Eventually I did too.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“Oh so you think I made it all up? That I’m crazy?”

“No, I don’t think you made it up at all. It’s just, like, really bad.”

“Oh it’s _bad?_ Well fucking thanks.”

“I didn’t mean to be, like, dismissive. It’s horrible Tom. I’m sorry about it.”

Tom stood up and went into the kitchen, ran a hand over his face, then settled it on his hip, “Here’s the thing though. The thing, and I know this sounds like I’m really gone, but I think that _dark_ let me go. Because my uncle was nearly six three. Real muscular and I was a scrawny teenager. It could have snapped me in half if it wanted to. Sometimes, when I let myself think about it, I think that maybe it let me go and it’s been just out of reach. And now it’s back.”

“Well like, this land is predisposed-”

“That’s a big word.”

“Predisposed to bad shit. Like you’ve seen that. So, I mean, I guess if you _were_ to have a monster stalking you for the past, like, several decades-”

“I’m not _that_ old.”

“If a monster was going to make itself known, like this is the place.”

“I can’t bring it back to New York. Not to Shiv. If something were to get it’s hands on her- I could never live with myself. Do you understand? This shit ends. I don’t care what Logan does, I’m not leaving until this is over in one way or another. I’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to Logan if I have to.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Greg said, and honest to God, Tom believed him. He put a hand on his chest. He couldn’t feel the scars through his jacket and they had mostly faded after so many years, but it was a subconscious motion anyway. 

“Your turn,” Tom said.

“To do what?”

“Spill. Tragic fucking past. I did my shit, so now you have to. That’s only fair pigman.”

“That’s alright. I’m going to bed. You can stay if you want. There’s some food in the fridge.”

“Goodnight then,” Tom said unhappily. It was a little unfair that Tom dumped his entire backstory at Greg’s feet, and Greg got off scott free, but then again, Tom had volunteered it after all.

“Goodnight Tom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom proposes an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half way through baby!

Using Greg’s absence to go through his shit was… bad. Tom knew that. Greg had invited him to stay, and mostly invited him to go through his fridge, but Tom had too many questions and not enough answers, and there was just shit out in the open. That might satisfy the nasty desire to feel even with Greg. And stuff out in the open was fair game. That was the law after all. Greg couldn’t be mad if he looked through things that were just laying around.

Greg’s food selection was dismal, like a college dorm. Take out containers and several frozen dinners, packs of soup and half eaten boxes of store brand cereal and crackers. Fair enough, Greg didn’t spend that much time here, but Tom had the sudden urge to take him fucking grocery shopping. It was kind of pathetic. 

He settled on a sandwich, which seemed safe enough-- the take out was questionable at best-- and a quick search found clean silverware and plates. 

There were a few photos on the fridge. Greg and a woman who looked like she was probably his mother. She was pretty, and comedically shorter than him, even though Greg still looked young in the photo. There was another man, most likely good old Grandpa Ewan, given the resemblance to his younger brother. Maybe Christmas. He couldn’t tell, but Greg had on a hideously green sweater and he hoped that would be the only occasion that one would wear it.

There were also a couple of news clippings hung up, mostly to do with the station, and most a few years old. That, coupled with the photo of what was clearly Greg’s dead ex, if the way they were smiling at each other was any indication-- and they looked so happy too-- was enough to make him depressed enough to sit at the table and eat, and content himself with sifting through Greg’s mail.

“Hey man, I’m pretty sure opening someone else’s mail is a crime.”

“I thought you were going to bed sleeping beauty.”

“Yeah I couldn’t sleep,” Greg stretched on his way over to the cabinet and Tom hyperfocued on the sliver of skin revealed when his shirt lifted up. It made him feel like both a repressed fucking Regency woman who was enamoured by the sight of skin you didn’t normally see and a horny teenager who was a little turned _on_ by skin you didn’t normally see. What the fuck was that about. And why the fuck couldn’t he shove it away somewhere.

“Hey man, you want a smoke?” Greg asked, “I thought I might. The porch is nice.”

“Yeah sure,” Tom agreed, despite never having smoked anything besides a cigarette once in high school to impress a senior girl he had a crush on. 

(It was definitely best to ignore the parallels here.)

“You a fucking pot head man?” Tom asked. 

“Weed’s legal in Washington,” Greg pointed out which wasn’t technically an answer, as he dug around for a lighter. Given the circumstances of Greg’s job, Tom was surprised it wasn’t a harder drug. 

Tom pulled the backdoor open. The afternoon air was cool, and after a moment, Greg followed him. He lit the joint, and propped his elbows up on the banister and held another out for Tom, who accepted. 

“Can I ask you something?” Tom asked.

“Sure.”

“Shiv, you know Shiv?”

“Yeah, she’s my cousin. So yeah.”

“She said something kinda weird on the phone. About how, if I wanted to, you know, have a little something while I was here, that we were grownups and it would be alright.”

“Huh,” Greg took a drag, “I see.”

“And so, I have to assume that it goes both ways. We’re not married after all.”

“Yeah like, if that’s your thing I guess.”

“What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

Greg shrugged, “Only that it sounds like maybe she wants to cheat on you but wants to not, like, call it that.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Tom shot back, “I’m only saying that I have _carte blanche_ like in a pre wedding, extended bachelor party situation.”

“Right, I mean. Yeah. Sure. Makes sense.”

“So what I’m-” Tom paused. He was stupid for even doing this, but the fact of the matter-- as strange and difficult as it was to admit-- was that he was attracted to Greg. And he wanted to do something about it, just see what it was like, “What I’m _saying_ is that if you wanted to, we could, you know.”

He motioned between the two of them.

“If you want to cheat on your fiancée with me that’s cool,” Greg said, so simply, Tom had to resist the urge to just knock him off the balcony. It was only the second story. He’d be fine.

“Well it’s _not_ cheating,” Tom argued. He shouldn’t have to justify his actions to Greg, when he and Shiv had an arrangement, and she’d made it clear it would be alright if he were to… do something like this and it wasn’t like Greg was a member of their relationship. He didn’t know anything about any of this, and certainly not enough to have an opinion like that, “If two people agree on it, it’s not cheating.”

“You don’t have to justify it to me,” Greg said, “It’s fine, I really don’t care. I kind of thought, like, that you did. Want to.”

“I didn’t do such a good job?” Tom frowned, “I thought I did good. I didn’t even realize it myself until like last week.”

“You had kind of a look on your face. I don’t know. Maybe it was just me.”

Tom had thought he’d done a fairly good job keeping everything neutral, so either he did absolutely terrible, or Greg was just incredibly good at reading him.

“You’re alright with this?”

“What? You and me fucking?”

“Yes.”

Greg smiled-- it was a little goofy looking honestly, but Tom found it weirdly attractive. Greg was just… Greg was good. He seemed to be a good person, who had genuine intentions, and Greg had believed him when no one else had. It wasn’t like he was in _love_ with Greg. Friends with benefits was a term that existed for a reason, “Yeah man. I’m alright with it. Do, like, do you need to have a crisis about it first? Cause we can just finish these and then, you know.”

“No,” Tom said, firmly and seriously. He felt a little more confident and decided that he was going to be alright, with this, just then. If nothing else, he was going to be just fine with this choice, “I don’t.”

He closed the distance between them, grabbed Greg by the shirt front and kissed him. It felt childish, but Tom thought Greg was a good kisser. He felt Greg’s hands on his waist, and when they pulled apart, Tom nodded. 

“Good,” He said.

“Are you giving me, like, a performance review?”

“Well I’m technically your boss but let’s not think about that right now, it feels like a conflict of interest. Let’s go inside. I’m going to fucking explode.”

Greg laughed, “You’re kind of needy? What the fuck.”

“I’m not needy Greg, I’m fucking turned on. Can we go?”

“Yeah,” Greg laughed again, “We can go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom works through their new _thing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again i am making tom work through shit internally

He felt a little guilty about the thing. 

He wasn’t feeling guilty for hooking up with Greg, because actually that had been really good. Had _felt_ really good. Maybe it was the passionate shit behind having a secret hookup. Maybe it was just because Greg was different from Shiv. Whatever the case was he didn’t feel guilty about it. Not at all. It was hard to feel guilty when you had enjoyed it so much. 

What he felt guilty about was that he _didn’t_ feel guilty. Shiv had given him permission, sure, but he didn’t want to have that permission. When you were engaged, Tom thought there was usually an expectation of monogamy there. When Shiv had told him to go ahead and fuck someone else, that illusion had been shattered. But shouldn’t he have felt bad about this? Greg was her cousin, they were supposed to get married, there were a lot of reasons why, but it didn’t matter. And even so, when Shiv had given him the green light, this was probably not what she was thinking-- it hadn’t been what he was thinking either though, to be fair.

Greg had fallen asleep. Not right after, right after they had laid there for a few minutes, and Tom had processed it all, and Greg had a minor panic attack thinking he’d fucked it up somehow until Tom brought Greg’s head down to his chest gently and told him to shut the fuck up or they wouldn’t do it again. That seemed to reassure him enough for now anyway. And it was nice, feeling him on his chest. 

Greg was kind of cute when he was asleep. Tom felt dumb calling a grown man cute, felt like a little kid with his first crush, but it would be pointless to say that he wasn’t attracted to Greg. And maybe it was just the weird adrenaline rush of existence here. He hadn’t been in any serious danger

(not yet at least)

but the phone call, and the radio tower and the rain-- all of that had given him some kind of sense of the reality of things. It was fine to pretend otherwise, but there were monsters out there, and sometimes they ripped your guts out and dragged you into their woods.

“Tom?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“No. I was. I mean. I woke up.”

“Are you supposed to go into the station tonight?”

“Yes. Did you want to come?”

“Yeah. Yeah I think I ought to.”

“Tom?”

“Yes?”

“Was this from the thing that killed your uncle?” Greg asked. He dragged a slow finger down one of the scars. Tom felt a shiver go down his spine at Greg’s soft touch. Shiv had asked, their very first time, and Tom had lied easily to her. He wasn’t sure why exactly. There were plenty of vague answers that weren’t entirely lies, but a car accident had seemed simple enough and wouldn’t offer space for too many questions. It was mundane. She hadn’t asked anything else.

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit. It’s uh, it’s kind of hot. I like, was thinking that when you took your shirt off. In like, a rugged kind of way.”

“Oh my God are you always like this?” Tom shook his head, “it’s kind of endearing in an idiotic way. Is that what you wanted to ask me?”

“No. It doesn’t matter. This was uh, nice. It was nice.”

“Yeah it was but nice is a terrible word to pick. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Greg said, “It’s fine.”

Tom frowned, and shook his head, “You can tell me if you want to.”

“I just haven’t done anything like this in a long time and it was really nice is all. So like. Thanks.”

“ _Thanks?_ Are you thanking me for fucking you?”

“I fucked you actually. But yeah. It doesn’t matter. I just- do you get the sense that like, something is going to happen? Something big? Like. I don’t know.”

“This is an incredibly terrible conversation topic post fuck Gregory.”

“Sorry. I just, I don’t know. That shit in the woods. What could have _done_ that? Cause, I mean, the ghosts are one thing. I don’t think they can do any physical harm. They just sort of are. Like yeah they knock on the doors and take stuff, but I don’t think they can _do_ much of anything, not when we’re in the station. It’s protective or whatever. But like, I don’t think a ghost could throw something like that anyway?”

“No, I don’t really think so either.” Tom was no expert in the occult, in monsters or _whatever_ but that night with the… visitors had been ingrained in his mind, and they all seemed relatively peaceful. And if not peaceful, as with the unexpected fourth, there had been no evidence of anything the next day. If it really wanted in, it could have broken a window or something. 

“Maybe not the wind?”

“Maybe not Mulder,” Tom sighed, “Maybe it _was_ aliens after all.”

“The truth is out there I guess. But this is new. I mean, the normal ghosts, that was all fine,” Greg said. Tom wasn’t sure that _ghosts_ and _fine_ really fit together in a sentence, but the fact that Tom agreed made him feel like he wasn’t quite the same Tom who had arrived here. 

“You can go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wake you up if you get too clingy.”

“Tom?” Greg still sounded sleepy. 

“Jesus Christ. What?”

“I don’t know if maybe you brought the dark with you or whatever. But I’m kind glad you came anyway.”

Tom didn’t respond. After several minutes of silence, Greg fell asleep again. Either the man didn’t get enough sleep, or he could just fall asleep at will. Either way, he was asleep again and Tom still didn’t know what to say. Like, what was he supposed to do with that? Tom had possibly brought an evil entity that he knew was capable of murder to this town, maybe unlocked something that had been waiting in the already deeply fucking haunted radio station, all of which wouldn’t have happened if he’d just stayed in New York, and Greg was still glad he came? Fuck him.

But Goddamn, if that wasn’t something to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!
> 
> question! i have several scenes i want to write in this setting that won't fit into the story itself. would y'all be interested in a second part of several one shots that aren't so interconnected as this one? just like stuff pre, during, and post this fic that didn't fit in this one? (i might just do it anyway, but i can banish it to tumblr lol)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something new happens at the station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spooky happenings abound lol

Honestly, sitting up in a tiny run down radio station all night was not on the list of tasks that Logan had set him up with, but here he was. And honestly, Tom didn’t really mind. He had several angry emails to respond to, and Greg wanted to clean out the pantry. Sam was supposed to be cleaning out the boxes in the studio, but Greg had gone to check on her and she’d fallen asleep instead. 

Logan wanted updates, so Tom tried to give them. In truth, the station had viable potential. People in the town liked the radio, that was true. And the history of it might cause some kind of outrage if it was gutted, but Tom was pretty sure Logan didn’t care because there was no money in the thing. Tom was failing his test-- how cruel could he be, because that’s what this was about-- and he’d be in for a good old fashioned chewing out when he got home.

The activity was bad tonight. The phone rang every hour or so, and things seemed to be throwing rocks at the windows. At one point Greg picked it up and took it off the hook, but it didn’t seem to deter the phone from ringing. The rocks bounced off every window, but try as he might, Tom couldn’t see anything hitting the glass. 

“New?” Tom asked. 

“New,” Greg replied casually, tossing another empty box into their growing pile of trash.

Around midnight, something in the forest screeched. It wasn’t a scream, not quite, because screaming was too human for that noise. This was too shrill, too much like nails on a chalkboard and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

He and Greg both paused, and looked up at each other. 

“That’s new too,” Greg said before Tom could even ask. 

“Did you guys hear that?” Sam poked her head into the kitchen, “What the fuck kind of hell beast made _that_ noise?”

“Yeah, we heard,” Greg went over to the window and looked out, but Tom knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything. The kitchen light was probably the only light visible for… miles. He became hyper aware of how alone they were.

The screech rang out again. Tom thought maybe it was a little closer, but it was probably 

(hopefully)

his imagination. 

“The door’s locked right?” Greg asked. Sam went to check, and called back that it was. 

Tom saved the email he’d been working on and shut his laptop. The wifi was shitty anyway, and he didn’t want to deal with the shit wifi and the monster outside at the same time. 

“Should we do something?” Sam asked. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, and kept looking between the window and Greg like one of them might give her some answers. 

“We can’t go out there,” Greg said, “I think we’re safe here. This station’s, like, a safe haven.”

Another screech. Definitely louder. Tom got up to look out the tiny window in the back door, but all he could see were the vague masses of the trees. They looked as if they were moving, but it was too dark to know for sure.

“Sounds kind of like a dinosaur,” Greg said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Like Jurassic Park?” Sam asked, “Cause, I’m not sure that’s actually better.”

“Yeah, I think I have to agree with Sam. People got eaten in that movie.”

“Yeah Greg, Tom’s on my side.”

Greg smiled half heartedly at her. 

This time was even closer. Tom looked out the window again but all he could see was the dark. It was like a void outside, like sitting in a fucking black hole. Even the light that shone outside from the window seemed to be eaten up by the darkness.

“I think we should turn the lights off,” Tom said.

“What?” Greg frowned, “You want to sit in the dark?”

“No, it’s not that I want to sit in the dark because I do not want to do that. I just have a gut feeling that the light might attract whatever it is. I don’t want it to know we’re here.”

Sam and Greg exchanged a look. Another shriek echoed through the air. It sounded to Tom like it was nearing the treeline. Clearly it was making its way towards them, regardless of if it wanted them or not. It wanted the light, and, like Greg had said, the station was a light in the dark.

“I think Tom’s right,” Sam said, “Not just cause he agreed with me earlier. I’ve never heard that noise before Greg, but if it’s that horrific just by sound, I don’t want to see it.”

“Yeah,” Greg said, “I guess so. You get the studio lights then come back in here. Quick. It’s moving kind of quickly it sounds like.”

“On it.”

“What do you think?” Tom asked, when Sam was out of ear shot.

“I really don’t know man,” Greg shut the light off above the stove, “I don’t know. Does this, I mean, do you recognize the noise?”

“No,” Tom replied, “If it’s the same thing, it’s learned a new trick.”

“Fucking great,” Greg muttered. Sam returned, Greg flipped off the last light, and the kitchen was plunged into darkness. Greg-- he was pretty sure it was Greg-- walked into a chair and made a crashing noise.

“Idiot,” Tom muttered. He thought he heard Greg chuckle. 

“It’s just me about to make noise,” Sam said, and there was the scraping of a chair on the floor. Another screech. This time, maybe only a mile or so away. He felt blindly in the dark, until he came across Greg, who took his hand silently.

“Let’s sit too,” he said. Greg’s hand was slightly clammy in his, though Tom didn’t blame him and sure didn’t let go. He used his other hand to find the table, find the empty chairs. Greg was incredibly close, and he could hear the in and out of his breathing. Tom’s knee pressed against Greg’s and if they got any fucking closer, Tom was going to be in his lap.

“Do you hear that?” Sam whispered.

Tom strained for a moment to hear what she was talking about. 

It wasn’t quite footsteps. But the general idea was there, of something coming closer. It sounded more like something was being dragged along through the gravel surrounding the station. When it screamed, Tom could have sworn it was just outside. The noise echoed through the room, rattled around in Tom’s brain for a bit, then subsided. 

“It’s alright,” he said, squeezing Greg’s hand, “I think you’re right, about the station being a sanctuary.”

Something hit the wall outside. The scream seemed as loud as a fucking jet engine this close. Definitely not a human. Tom was pretty sure his heart was going to explode. 

It was hard to hear, exactly, what was going on. The thing was screaming loudly, but it sounded like it was circling the building, occasionally banging up against the wall to look for a weak spot. Sam whimpered a few times, and Tom didn’t even want to tell her to shut up, like he probably would have done normally. 

“It’s out front,” Greg whispered. 

“Do you think it’ll go if it thinks no one is here?” Sam asked

The screech was more of a howl now, and Tom was pretty sure he was never going to sleep again. 

“We can hope,” Greg said, and it was not as confident as Tom needed it to be. 

Tom didn’t know how much time passed. It was too dark to see the clock, and he didn’t dare look at his phone, or get up to check the time on the microwave. Then again, time was so fucked here it could have been ten minutes and it could have been ten hours. 

But the shrieking and the pacing stopped. The dragging sound retreated and after a while stopped all together. Silence filled the air again. Nobody moved though, and the lights remained off. Absentmindedly, he gave Greg’s hand another squeeze. What, exactly, that was meant to convey, he didn’t know, but he hoped Greg took it as some kind of reassurance. 

“I think it’s gone,” Greg said. 

“Want me to get the lights?” Sam asked.

“Not really. But I think it’d be alright if you did.”

Tom heard Sam stand, heard the lights click on and they slowly hummed to life. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and he let go of Greg’s hand. It was different in the light anyway. There were… implications there he didn’t want to deal with.

Sam stood up on her toes to peek out the window and nodded, “I don’t see anything. Sun’s starting to rise though. What time is it?”

“Almost six,” Tom glanced at his watch twice to make sure he read it right, “Fucking almost six already. How?”

“We can go out soon,” Greg nodded, “See if anything’s damaged?”

Sam whipped her head around at that, “You think it could have, like, made a physical impact?”

“I don’t know what it was. It’s not the same as the ghosts or the fucking thing that looks like dead people. I’m telling you zombie Jack has never left any marks no matter how hard he throws himself against the doors and windows.”

_Jack._ Tom filed the information away, though he wasn’t sure why it mattered, or why he was focusing on that at this particular moment in time. It seemed important. And Greg had never mentioned a name. If anything, Tom would use it to make them equal again-- he didn’t like Greg having his fucking tragic past unlocked while Tom had the bare bones. It was an unfair dynamic. 

Like life was fucking fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's Tragic Past

It was as if nothing had happened--in fact, at first, if Tom hadn’t spent the night huddled in the kitchen with the lights out, he wouldn’t have known anything _had_ happened.

Until they came across the tracks. 

They weren’t footprints, but more of the kind ditch, left behind by something being dragged 

(like a body)

like a trash bag or something. If it had been a silent night, Tom might have assumed they came from an animal dragging it’s dinner or something. But given what they had heard, the sight was more than a little unnerving. 

He followed Greg out to the muddy road, where he was examining the trail carefully.

“Anything to report?” he asked.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Greg replied, “Looks like nothing. The building looks fine though. Not even a crack in the glass.”

“It’s the world’s safest radio station. The military could learn a few things from you.”

“Yeah,” Greg stood up and wiped the dirt off on his jeans, then turned to Tom and smiled, “Fucking crazy isn’t it.”

“That’s one word I guess. What next?”

Greg frowned, “I’m not sure. I ought to call like, Mike and Jonah. Tell them about this, in case it comes back on one of their nights. I don’t know if it will, but it seemed like turning off the lights was effective enough.”

“Felt a little like the London Blitz.”

“Yeah,” Greg chuckled, “A little.”

“Look ah, Greg. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What happened to Jack?”

Greg winced, “Yeah. Guess I should probably tell you.”

“Well we’ve been bonded by horror,” Tom said, “We’re connected now. Plus I told you my shit, it’s only fair you tell me.”

Greg nodded, “Makes sense I guess. But not here. I can’t- I don’t want to say it here. I don’t know man, talking about shit here, makes me feel like we’re _inviting_ trouble.”

“Alright Greg,” he said softly. He was slightly annoyed-- it felt like Greg was stalling, but he’d never so much as spoken of his uncle for over thirty years, so maybe that was alright. It wasn’t like they were dating, or fucking _married._ They’d slept together _once_ and it didn’t entitle him to anything. 

(And why was this a priority right now? Hell was breaking loose in their fucking backyards, and Tom wanted to know the gory details of Greg’s dead boyfriend. What was that? Morbid curiosity? Annoyance? Jealousy? All of those were sort of fucked. He didn’t know, but maybe focusing on _human_ problems was easier.)

“Want breakfast?”

“You mean some delectable strawberry pancakes?”

Greg cracked a smile, “Yeah. You’re making fun of me though.”

“No I’m not,” Tom shook his head, “Look, I might be going insane. It’s quite possible, all things considered, but I felt… sort of better telling you about my uncle. Maybe this’ll help.”

“You’re being like, kind of nice to me.”

“You want me to hit you and call you a dick instead? I’m going to rescind the offer.”

Greg laughed, “I’m pretty sure there’s no take backs on this kind of bonding Tom. Guess I’m your ride?”

“Guess so.”

Driving with Greg was strange, because the man had something to say about everything. About the music on the radio, about the trees, about the road-- clearly he was a nervous talker, but only when there was nothing really to be nervous about. The hike in the woods he’d been silent, but the drive into town he was as chatty as Tom had ever seen him.

“You’re looking at me,” Greg said, when they pulled into a parking spot, “Why?”

“Don’t you run out of things to say Bigfoot?”

“It’s nice that you let me talk when I drive. Grandpa _hates_ it, but like, I don’t like driving that much so I talk to think less about how I’m driving.”

“Right but you drive all the time Greg,” Tom patted his knee, feeling like Greg had just seen the inside of his soul or something. Like maybe Tom liked listening to Greg talk a little bit, “Let's go eat.”

Greg got them a table and ordered two meals again. Tom ordered coffee. How many times did something have to happen for it to be a habit? The waitress-- a different woman this time-- flashed them both a smile and promised it would be out soon.

“So,” Tom nodded, “Spill.”

“Oh,” Greg frowned, “I hoped you were going to forget.”

“Look, if you don’t want to tell me that’s fine, but you’re so Goddamn freakish all the time, maybe not keeping it bottled up will be good for you.”

“Yeah probably,” Greg said casually, taking a sip of coffee. Tom was beginning to grow fond of the cheap coffee you got in diners. God it would be nice to pay six dollars for a latte downtown again though, “It’s my fault anyway.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I think so. Everybody _said_ it wasn’t but like-”

“I get it,” Tom cut him off before he could finish this too familiar explanation. He didn’t want to listen to Greg’s reasoning. 

“It was a car accident,” Greg frowned, “He was driving. It’s, uh, why I prefer to drive.”

“Oh.”

“We were driving. It was fine. We were sort of out of the way. I don’t know. I don’t remember it all. But there was this, _thing_ that just, fucking, appeared out of nowhere. Maybe it was your dark.” 

“Maybe,” Tom picked up his coffee to have something to do with his hands. 

“I think maybe it was a human, but I don’t know what a human would have been doing. That’s what I saw, but I really don’t know. I know he turned, to avoid hitting whatever it was, and the roads were bad. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Canadian winters eh?”

“Right. What do you think it was?”

Greg ran a hand over his face, “Fuck man I don’t know. I ended up pretty alright after a few days. Mom didn’t want to tell me what had happened at first you know? But at least they waited to have the funeral I guess. At least I didn’t have to see him all… messed up.”

“Guess you loved him a lot.”

Tom thought about himself in Greg’s shoes. The guy was probably Greg’s first love and he couldn’t _imagine_ losing Shiv like that. To wake up to the news that she was dead. It made him sick to think about it all. 

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I uh, dropped out of school after. I didn’t know how to just go back. Mom hated it, I spent all my time trying to figure out what the fuck I saw. I found a hundred answers. A ghost, Bigfoot, the Grim fucking Reaper. I don’t know what it was. But she got tired of me wallowing around the house and that’s how I ended up here. And I guess I didn’t, like, immediately go insane when I found out the place was haunted because I already had an idea stuff was out there.”

“The truth right?”

“So that’s that,” Greg said, pausing as the food arrived. He smiled at the waitress and slid the other plate over to Tom, “Happy?’

“I’m sorry,” Tom said. He put a hand on Greg’s arm for a moment, then took it back, “That that happened to you. But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Sure,” Greg took a bite of his pancakes, “Sure.”

“It’s not.”

“I _always_ drove. It was the first time in, like, ever I hadn’t been driving. He got distracted easier I guess. I just think if it had been me driving, then maybe he would be alive. But like, it’s fine.”

“Does everybody else have a fucking Ghostbusters backstory here? Is it a prerequisite?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t- I don’t know. But can we stop talking about it?”

“Sure Greg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can only describe this chapter as greg reads tom to death honestly

Tom was pretty sure if he kept hanging around Greg outside of work he was going to grow real feelings for him. 

_That_ would definitely be outside of the loose agreement he and Shiv had. _That_ was not going to be allowed to happen.

But then again, he was definitely in trouble back home. Shiv was growing tired of his BS excuses, and Logan was not at all convinced of the station's viability. He was threatening to send out the eviction notices as early as the next week. And Shiv wanted him home, she said, she missed him and she was worried--not seriously, he thought-- that he was either going insane, leaving her, or some combination of the two. He was grateful she was worried, but he didn’t know how to explain this to the Roys. They wouldn’t believe him even if he admitted to it.

But it was easy-- Goddamn it, it was _easy_ \-- go to dinner with Greg, and the store, and run errands and then fall into bed at the end of the day. Greg didn’t seem to demand things from him. He simply was. When Tom was a dick to him, he just smiled, and told him _“you don’t really mean it”_ and when Tom wanted to talk, seriously, about what exactly the fuck he was going to say to Logan, and what exactly the fuck he was going to do, Greg would listen, and offer (sometimes dumbass, but usually kind) advice. 

He just liked being with Greg. Even when he was doing stupid shit, like trying to figure out which paper towels were the best deal, or woefully mispronouncing dish names when they went out to eat. 

It felt _almost_ like dating, but it couldn’t be dating, because he was essentially engaged, to Shiv, back home, and soon enough he would go back and get married. The arrangement they had would end, and it would be just them. Hell, if she never asked, she didn’t even need to know about Greg.

(That made him feel just _swell._ )

The fact of the matter was this felt sort of like the early day with Shiv. The honeymoon phase or whatever it was. A part of him was bitter she’d given him permission to sleep around, but the other part was just thankful they weren’t married yet. It was nice. Sure, a lot of their time was spent in an increasingly haunted radio station, or digging through questionable internet articles, or in the fucking rain and mud of the Washington forests, but the dumbass romantic part of his brain, the part he hadn’t managed to squash yet, thought that was alright. 

He felt Greg get up from bed in his half asleep state, and since he was pretty sure Greg wasn’t meant to go into the station today, he made himself open his eyes to see why.

“Yeah,” Greg said, his back turned to Tom, “No, I’ll come in. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there in like an hour.”

He sat up and heard Greg sigh and he hung up.

“Was that the other woman? Are you cheating on me Gregory?”

“Ha,” Greg frowned, “Jonah says something happened last night. Wanted me to go and see.”

“Something like what?” 

“Don’t know,” Greg stood up and looked around for his shirt, “He wouldn’t say. Just said you have to come and see. I told them about the thing the other night, so I don’t know why he wouldn’t just _say_ that.”

“We should go?”

“I guess,” Greg ran a hand through his hair, “You can stay here if you want.”

“No. If there’s physical damage to the building I’ll have to add it to my assessment,” Tom said. 

Greg stared at him and Tom wasn’t sure why. 

“You’re still going through with that?”

“It’s my job Greg.”

Greg made a face Tom couldn’t decipher and went into the bathroom. Tom threw the covers off and looked around for his own shirt. Greg was unhappy with him. That was clear, but what Greg expected, Tom didn’t know. He had come here with a job, and a marriage waiting for him. Did Greg really expect him to give all that up for what? A shit job in a monster infested woods? For Greg’s tiny apartment and instant coffee? If that was the case, then either Greg was absolutely deluded, or Tom was doing a shit job at staying somewhat detached from it all.

“What did Jonah say?” He called.

Greg popped his head out of the bathroom, his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, “He said that something scraped against the door last night and that I needed to come and make sure he wasn’t, quote, seeing things.”

“Right,” Tom said, and Greg disappeared again. He checked his phone, scrolled past several emails, wondered if Logan had fired him yet, and tucked it away again. 

They got ready in absolute silence. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Tom said, when they got into the car. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Greg replied, and then proceeded to not speak for the entire car ride. It felt a little bit like a punishment-- for both of them-- but Tom was petty enough to keep the silence. Tom listened to the music from a station in Olympia they usually managed to get, until the signal cut out and Greg turned to their station, where the morning’s menu consisted of what sounded like maybe Bach. 

Jonah was waiting for them by the door, and Greg got out first-- still quiet-- and went over. Tom was growing sick of the fucking silent treatment, but he got out too and followed. 

“So what’s up?” Greg asked. 

“It’s these,” Jonah ran a hand over the door, and Tom had to half elbow the two of them a part in order to see, “I heard it last night, something, like, scratching to get in, but I ignored it like always. It wasn’t one of our normal visitors.”

“That was probably right,” Greg ran his hand over the wood, which was scratched up, like a dog-- maybe a _big_ dog, or something had been begging to come in. They were fairly shallow, but numerous, “What time, do you remember?”

“No. Later though. It woke me up.”

“Huh,” Greg stood up and frowned, “That’s probably bad.”

“This is the first time something’s made an impact?” Tom asked. 

“Yeah,” Jonah looked back at him, “Usually it sounds like it, but there’s never anything there. I mean the rock throwing is new, against the windows, but they never leave even a scratch. It’s getting worse.”

“You’re sure these weren’t here yesterday?”

They both glared at him. 

“Did you see anything Jonah?” Greg asked. 

Jonah shook his head, “It was kind of weird. I heard the noise, and I hadn’t before, so I went to look. It really sounded like an animal or something. I wasn’t going to go outside of course. But when I looked outside all I saw, well I couldn’t see much. It was so dark.”

Tom’s traitor heart sped up, and he focused on keeping his breathing slow. It was probably nothing. 

“Right,” Greg nodded. Ever the fucking stoic about this shit, “You can go home Jonah. We’ll figure this out from here. Are you good to drive?”

“Yeah I’m alright.”

When Jonah left, Greg went inside, and Tom trailed after him.

“You’re mad at me,” he said. 

“I’m not mad,” Greg pulled open the fridge and pulled out the orange juice, “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Oh fuck off,” Tom leaned against the table, “You’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” Greg poured the orange juice and sighed, “I’m not. Promise. I just think you’re being kind of an asshole. You’re really going to go back to fancy fucking New York City and shut this all down and say fuck it to all of us, and all the shit we have to do here.”

“Is this resentment I detect? Maybe a little resentment that I get to leave this creepy town?” he laughed without humor, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I just thought maybe when we started fucking you might have changed your mind. I wish you would have said something earlier.”

“You thought I changed my mind, just, out of the blue? That’s on you buddy.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What do you care? You’re smart enough. I told you time and time again that I’ll get you a job in New York. You can get out of this place.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” Greg muttered, “Maybe I _like_ my job here. Maybe I like being good at taking care of this place and the poor fucking dead people who come knocking once a month. Maybe working here was the first time I didn’t want to fucking die. Did you think about any of that? No man, you didn’t. You thought you’d come down here and laugh and have a good time and make Uncle Logan happy and then enjoy being a Roy at our expense.”

“Fuck you,” Tom snarled, “You don’t know anything.”

“Yeah that’s me. Greg the fucking idiot. I’m just a dumbass who doesn’t know anything. I know some things though. You want to be a Roy so fucking bad and you never will be. Logan doesn’t give a fuck about you. He doesn’t. I’m sorry. He doesn’t care about me and I’m his fucking nephew. Maybe Shiv loves you. I don’t know. Haven’t spoken to her in a long time. But if it were me, I would maybe take off the rose fucking colored glasses and think that maybe my girlfriend wanted to fuck on the side and ride it off as some agreement and I would say something about it.”

Tom opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Greg had never shown that much emotion. Any emotion. Tom had been right about bottling up it seemed. And evidently anger was one he could show. He supposed it was anger. Maybe he was just scared. 

“Anything else you fucking slimeball?” He taunted. It was a bad idea, because even though Greg had definitely hit below the belt, he had made some points, “Want to insult my ability in bed while we’re at it? Call me some names?”

“No,” Greg said, sounding tired, “I said my piece.”

There was several feet of space between them. Tom debated going over there and hitting him, but he settled for throwing someone’s abandoned water bottle across the room, missing Greg by several inches. He looked around for another but coming up empty.

“Fuck you,” Tom said. It seemed to be his go to phrase for the morning, “I’m leaving.”

“Ok,” Greg shrugged, “You can take the station’s truck. The keys are in the front hall. I’ll get someone to pick it up later.”

“You’re an asshole,” Tom said, “You pretend to know all this stuff about everything, but you don’t. All you fucking know is ghosts and monsters and shit but you don’t know anything about reality. You hide out here to avoid dealing with the real world and it’s just sad.”

He turned on his heel and left without a second word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the girls are fighting! thanks as always


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom hears some unexpected radio programming

Tom was already drafting an email to Logan by the time he got back to his hotel. He hadn’t been in several days, rationalizing that Greg’s apartment was closer, but the place had been cleaned, and it was nice to be somewhere with good WiFi and functioning appliances. 

It would be a simple email. The station was not financially viable, and it was his professional opinion that the place be gutted, the employees terminated, and the building sold for the land. He would call Shiv, and then he would book a ticket to New York. Two could play this game. If Greg didn’t want to come to New York, didn’t want to accept the help Tom was offering, then that was his fault. Tom wasn’t going to feel bad about that.

He didn’t send the email-- he wasn’t sure why, but he figured he’d give it another read after his head was clearer and stalked into the bedroom, tossing shit into his suitcase. There were things at Greg’s but he’d just send him and email and ask for them back when this was over. It wasn’t worth trying to play nice with Greg.

He gave up quickly on packing when he realized he hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. They’d left the apartment quickly, and though there was food at the station, he hadn’t taken anything to go. It was simpler to eat now, finish packing, then send the email off. He could have a drink at the bar tonight to celebrate a job well done. 

Well finished anyway.

He climbed back into the truck, and out of habit, flipped on the radio. He was so used to listening to it all the time now that he didn’t even give it a second thought. Early morning classical had given way to the late morning news and weather updates. 

Debating turning the radio off, Tom came to a red light and stopped. The last thing he wanted to hear was Greg talking about the storm that was supposed to hit this weekend-- not that Tom would be there to see it-- and the school board meeting on Wednesday. His hand hovered over the dial for a moment, one eye on the light.

Suddenly, Greg’s voice was cut off. Replaced by static. Tom smacked the radio. The truck was old and broken. He shouldn't have been surprised by it, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a little spooky. He’d never had any problems with the signal before, not in town. 

It would be stupid, to drive all the way back to the station just because the signal had gone out. 

Not only would Greg probably have a good laugh, but he’d have to actually go back there, and he did not want to do that. 

He turned the radio off. It was stupid anyway.

Continuing on his way-- the only decent coffee shop was a good half an hour from the hotel-- he tried not to think about much of anything. Not the way he was pretty sure pure lust had been replaced by genuine feeling, not the uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach about the radio signal, not the email draft sitting on his laptop at that every moment. Nothing but the pretty alright latte and breakfast he was about to enjoy.

The radio flipped back on. It scared him so badly he nearly slammed on the breaks. Several people honked at him, and he raised a sheepish hand in apology, pulling off to the side of the road. 

Did car radios turn on by themselves? Had he not turned it off all the way? Normally he would have looked it up, assumed it was a freak problem with this car that could have belonged to Henry Ford himself, but given it all, he stared at the radio, waiting for it to do something.

The static continued. Louder this time, even though he hadn’t touched the volume controls. He was sure of that. Even if car radios did turn on by themselves, they shouldn’t turn their volume up by themselves. 

“Hello?” Tom asked, feeling slightly like a person in a horror movie. It was an inanimate object. They did not, traditionally, speak when spoken to. 

The static faded for a moment, and Tom reached for the dial again. It _was_ probably the shitty wiring in this ancient relic that the station used as a collective vehicle. It wasn’t even worth adding to his write up. The car couldn’t have been worth it’s weight in metal.

“Tooooommmmmy,” the voice in the radio said. It was sing-songy, taunting him, like a clown or a child or something horrific and unknown to humans. It was audible too, over the static, which had not stopped, but merely sped up. He wasn’t sure if that made it more or less terrifying, “Trying to run Tommy?”

“I’m not fucking running,” he replied, feeling like he had completely lost his grip on reality.

“I can take him too,” it said. Tom could _hear_ the sneer in it’s voice, “You like that?”

“Fuck you. You’re not even real.”

“Not real?” it said, and then cackled, “Not _real?_ ”

Tom jumped slightly in his seat at the anger in the radio’s voice. The sing-song quality had vanished, replaced by real anger, real malice. Tangible. 

“Real enough to kill then. Real enough to kill again.” Just as quick as it had lost the quality, it returned, just as fucking frightful as before. 

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Tom snarled. He was in a blind panic at this point and his brain was only working about halfway. Some thoughts were incoherent, no more than vague ideas but some were razor sharp.

The dark was going to kill Greg. 

That he knew for a fact. 

It was going to kill Greg just like it had killed his uncle, and maybe a hundred other people. Maybe it had already succeeded, and was trying to trap Tom so it could kill him too. 

(For a moment, Tom wondered if he would mind it, if there was a chance that Greg was alive. He decided he didn’t.)

Greg who had not done anything wrong, not really, besides say true things too harshly. Greg who laughed at his shitty attempts to flirt, and who tossed a can into the food drive bin every time he went to the grocery store, Greg who had a mother and a grandfather who loved him deeply, Greg who maybe he loved too. All of that was going to be wiped away by a fucking demon or _whatever_ and it was going to be his fault for showing up here in the first place. For leaving Greg along.

It giggled. Fucking _giggled._

“Hey fuckface?” he said, channeling every bit of bravery he had left, “Go to hell.”

“Race you there Tommy,” it replied, taunting him, and the static grew louder again as the voice faded. Tom took a half second to compose himself-- it was all the time he could spare, and pulled back onto the road, and _booked_ it towards the station.

He tried dialing Greg, the phone sitting in the cup holder, but the phone rang and rang. That by itself was explainable, but all Tom could picture was arriving at the station to blood and gore, and death. 

The phone would be ringing still, maybe in Greg’s pocket, or in the kitchen, a log of missed calls on the screen and the last fucking thing Tom would have said to him would have been fucking _cold-blooded._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just eleven chapters left! whew!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom heads back to the station

The drive passed in a blur. 

He vaguely remembered probably breaking the speed limit, but no cops had pulled him over. He raced to the station and ran out of the car, throwing the door open to the building. The place was quiet, and seemed calm enough. 

It wasn’t enough to calm _him_ though, and he ran into the kitchen, straight to the studio. There was no blood on the floor, no body parts or anything, so perhaps he’d made it in time. 

Perhaps he had won the race. Gold fucking medal. First place. 

Greg looked casually up when he threw the door open, seemingly unbothered by all of this. Tom knew he probably looked like a mess, breathing heavy, sweating, and vaguely disheveled. Greg was definitely winning this fight or _whatever_ because there he sat while Tom looked like he just got run over by a bus.

But he was _alive._ Greg held up a finger, pressed a button, and took his headphones off. 

“I thought you were leaving.”

Tom shook his head, ignoring every annoyance, every angry thought he’d had because Greg was there, looking just fucking fine, “You’re alive.”

“Are you alright?”

Tom shook his head again, crossed the room and put his hands on Greg’s face, “You’re alive.”

“Yeah, last time I checked,” Greg raised his eyebrows, “So are you.”

“I thought you were dead,” he pulled Greg against him, probably crushing Greg’s face in his chest, “I thought the dark got you too.”

“What are you talking about?” Greg asked, his voice muffled, “Dude, you’re cutting off my oxygen supply.”

“Sorry,” Tom let him go, “I just- I heard a voice on the radio. Talking about killing you. The same voice from the phone. I had to come and make sure.”

“Oh,” Greg said simply. Like this was even _remotely_ simple and not literally the stuff of nightmares, “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Tom replied instead of actually answering Greg’s question, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Greg sighed, “I’m sorry. That was… too much. I shouldn’t have said that stuff. About you wanting to be a Roy or whatever. That was just nasty of me. Like it’s fine.”

“You’re forgiven,” Tom said, and kissed his forehead, “On account of your not being dead.”

“If I was dead you would still be mad?”

“Yes,” he shook his head, “Can I- I’m sorry for everything.”

“I am too,” Greg smiled, “I’ve never, like, actually been that mean before. It was kind of exhilarating. Like, I didn’t know I could do it.”

“Yeah? Did it turn you on you fucking sicko?”

“Oh fuck you.”

Tom laughed, “That’s not an answer Greg.”

“I’m sorry. I just- I don’t know,” Greg shook his head, “Wait, what happened with the voice? I’ll put the tracks on and we can talk.”

Tom nodded, and let go, so Greg could do the work, and then took his hand, pulling him into the kitchen. He was still running mostly on adrenaline, too worked up to sit or even stand still. Greg’s eyes followed him from his spot at the table. 

“It just, the signal cut off,” Tom said, “And I turned it off but it turned back on by itself and that fucking voice came on and said I was running, and it was going to take you too. That it was _real_ enough to kill. I thought I was going to be too late.”

“I’m alright,” Greg said softly, “Kind of sweet. You were worried about me.”

“Greg, literally fuck you.”

“What are you going to do Tom?”

Tom put a hand on his hip, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other, “I don’t fucking know man. This is not what I expected it to be. I thought it would be easy.”

“Yeah. Well. No shit.”

“Here’s the thing,” Tom began, “I don’t want to go back to New York having closed this place down. Realistically, this place is worth nothing and you know that. Not that Logan can’t afford to keep it, it’s just bringing in maybe a hundred bucks every few months. I’m sure if it hadn’t gotten lost in the shuffle, I’d have been here much sooner to shut it down. But I _can’t_ shut this place down.”

“Aw, thanks,” Greg said, and Tom rolled his eyes.

“And here’s the thing, with Shiv. _About_ Shiv. I don’t know what that was. I was under the impression that she and I were monogamous. Until she said that, I didn’t even think to question it. But I don’t think I like that very much.”

Tom felt the words come out of his mouth and knew they were true. He _didn’t_ like it very much. Didn’t like that she could say that, and expect him to go along with it, just out of nowhere. He _loved_ Shiv. That was true, had expectations for how their relationship was meant to be. But he didn’t want this. From her. He wanted… something else. Tom had given up a lot for things he _thought_ he wanted. But maybe they weren’t what he wanted in the end. Maybe he didn't even know what he wanted.

“We can stop Tom, hooking up or whatever.”

Tom held up a hand, “No. I don’t think I want that either. It’s so Goddamn confusing. I just wish I knew what to do.”

“What, like, what would make you happy?”

“What would make me _happy?_ Not dying for starters. Maybe figuring out what the fuck, exactly, is going on in this place.”

“So let’s do that,” Greg shrugged and Tom was thankful he was focusing on that and not Tom’s imploding relationship, “I mean like, we have two and a half degrees between us right? That’s pretty smart. I bet the dark has none.”

Tom laughed, “You’re kind of a moron.”

“But I’m serious, man. I mean, we’ve just been kind of accepting things. Giving the ghosts what they need. Getting the power company to fix the tower with no explanation. Hiding inside at night. Maybe we should like, actively try and work it out. I don’t care about the ghosts, but the bad stuff. Maybe we could stop it from happening.”

“You think we could?” Tom asked. He thought about his aunt, who had never had any kind of answers into her husband’s murder, and who was the only person who knew what had happened, but refused to talk about it. He thought about how _good_ it would feel to finally have closure. 

Greg shrugged, “We could try. I mean. What’s the worst case scenario?”

“We die Gregory. That’s the worst case scenario.”

“Yeah. But we probably won’t.”

Tom came over and pulled him into a sort of hug. Greg was so tall, that even while sitting, his head came up to Tom’s chest. He bit back an _I love you._ It was getting harder to do that.

“Yeah. Probably not.”

“What’s step one?” Greg asked. 

“Not to sound like the fucking Scooby Doo gang-- you’re Shaggy by the way-- I think we have to do some more aggressive research. We’ve been too broad, I think. I mean, I know more about how ghosts work than I ever wanted to, but I don’t think that the ghosts are the problem. Maybe we should see a professional.”

“Like. A priest?”

“I’m not sure exactly. I’m the skeptic in this relationship,” he said, finally content in the fact that Greg was alive, and probably would remain so for the foreseeable future, “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure. The radio thing is new as far as I’m aware. But I think maybe this is going to come to an end soon. Do you get that?”

“Uh huh,” Tom nodded, “I do. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“It just is.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg do some research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all have been so kind with this i-

Tom had never been one for research. Googling “the dark” had brought up several horror movies and completely unrelated articles. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t had to really research things in a long time, but it was clearly not his forte. 

“Hey,” Greg said when he arrived-- Tom had given him the other hotel room key and ignored any of the implications that might have gone along with that, “I found some books that might help.”

“How quaint.”

“Yeah right,” Greg dropped the pile onto the counter with a dull thud, “I don’t know if these will be helpful, but I thought that perhaps they _could_ help.”

“You’re kind of good at this.”

“Yeah,” Greg sat down and popped open the beer Tom had left out for him, “I was a journalism major.”

Tom knew he did the same thing, but it was like Greg dropped bits of information in random sentences, and Tom had to piece him together. Maybe it was just they were both unused to the _newness_ of it all, but Greg worked at a fucking radio station, and his uncle owned one of America’s biggest news networks, and Greg had never thought to mention that before? 

“Glad you’re on our side Walter Cronkite.”

“I don’t like, really know where to begin,” Greg propped the first book open. It looked yellowed and worn, and probably dull, “I mean like, dark isn’t a great place to start.”

“God I can’t believe I’m even about to ask this, but do you think it’s a monster, or like a demon or?”

Greg chuckled, “Yeah. I don’t know. I think it’s a monster. I don’t know the ghosts, I don’t think the ghosts can do that.”

He gestured vaguely with his beer can to Tom’s chest.

“No. Probably not.”

“It seems,” Greg considered his words and flipped through the book without any real sense of purpose, “Old. Ancient. It’s powerful. That’s for sure. With the fucking rain. I don’t know. What did you think, when you saw it?”

“I try not to think about it.”

“Well yeah. Sorry.”

“It didn’t _feel_ like anything,” Tom tried to recall the image to his mind, but it was so clouded by time and fear it was hard to remember it exactly as it had been, “It just looked like a shadow I guess. Formless. Like smoke. Like a shadow. It was cold.”

“Don’t I mean, don’t demons need like, somebody to possess? I saw the Exorcist only once, I was too scared.”

“You give me all this ammunition,” Tom chuckled, “Am I not supposed to make fun of you for that? It’s not even that scary.”

“It’s been ranked several times as the scariest movie ever,” Greg replied, without missing a beat. Tom wondered if he’d had this conversation before. 

“You regularly see ghosts in your day to day life, but a horror movie from the 70s is what does it for you?”

Greg rolled his eyes, “I’m not alone in this. Look it up. People think it’s scary.”

“If that helps you sleep at night Greg.”

“Maybe it’s not any one thing, I mean the phone shit existed before so did the...zombie thing so maybe like, it just came back. Or maybe it just came and when it did, all the bad stuff came to the surface again. Negative energy or whatever. Gave the bad stuff more power,” Greg said, ignoring him. Tom pretended not to see his smirk at their stupid little Excorsist conversation though, “I mean. I did a lot of research back- back then, and I learned about a lot of scary shit that looks like black masses and maybe it’s just that. A black mass.”

“That’s really kind of lame,” Tom thought it over, “I mean, that’s more of a concept really. Like life and liberty and fucking, pursuit of happiness.”

“I mean look,” Greg leaned back in his chair, “I think maybe we can spend all this time looking through these books-- probably a good idea really. But I think maybe we’re just going to have to venture outside of the station at night.”

“That sounds like a sure fire way to get our intestines ripped out and to die horrible bloody deaths.”

“Jesus, Tom.”

“But it seems dangerous.”

“I know. But I think we’ve got to. On the full moon maybe.”

“That’s definitely _worse._ Do you see how that’s worse?”

Greg conceded the point, “I just have, like, a gut feeling about it.”

Tom considered this. He wasn’t a big fan of doing things because they _felt_ right. His mother was a lawyer, did things with evidence and rational, and he had tried his best to do so as well. There wasn’t anything rational about this though. This was all just guessing games. 

“Ok,” Tom said finally, “I think you’re right.”

The full moon was still several days away, which gave them several days to plan or to chicken out. He briefly considered telling Greg that they should say fuck it and abscond together and never look back. It was, of course, impossible. Much like debt, the fucking whatever it was would probably follow them. And that wasn’t even remotely realistic. 

“Assuming we don’t die,” Greg began, “What are you going to tell Uncle Logan?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I need to, like, get another job. ‘Cause my rent is kind of important.”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep bringing it up,” Tom said, “But I guess I owe you this much. But the truth is, I don’t know. Shiv’s on my ass. Logan’s probably going to fire me the next time I speak to him, but I can’t- I don’t even care about any of that. It feels so _superficial_ compared to everything else.”

“I don’t really want to die Tom,” Greg said softly.

“You’re not going to die. Clearly I’m willing to race across fucking traffic to make sure you don’t die. You’re not going to die.”

“Cleary. But like. Still.”

“You’re a drama queen,” Tom said. He knew he was being too blasé about the whole thing, but that was safer. Greg didn’t need to see him scared, not again. If he put on the brave face and the cocky attitude, then maybe it would rub off on Greg. Tom wasn’t sure he was ready to play fucking Superman to Greg’s Lois Lane and so he needed Greg to be confident enough in this himself, “It’s just the wind right?”

“Tom, do you think, like, it wants you?”

“I don’t know,” Tom shook his head, “It’s not a good feeling to think it wants me. And I think, maybe, maybe it’s just evil. It doesn’t _want_ to do anything but raise hell. I don’t know.”

He felt like he was saying _I don’t know_ a lot, but it was the truth. He _didn’t_ know. They might never know. This dark had been around for eons, and would continue to exist. Tom thought their best bet was to maybe weaken it. Scare it off.

It felt like a death sentence. 

“Hand me one of those,” Tom pointed to the stack, “Might as well see if I can find anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom learns some news he doesn't quite like, and discovers some facts he _does._

“When are you coming home?” Shiv demanded. He didn’t blame her. He was acting erratic, and he could understand her concerns, “This is ridiculous. It’s fucking worthless.”

“I know honey, but it’s complicated.”

“What does that _mean?_ ”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But I’ll be done here by the weekend,” Tom said, and that was true. The full moon was Thursday night, so he was either going to be dead, or the major problem was going to be solved. Either way, he’d be done. It wasn’t even a lie.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive,” he frowned, “Do you miss me?”

“Of course I do,” she said casually.

“Shiv can I ask something?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a meeting in ten though.”

“It’s about what you said. Our agreement. About you know.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I mean, is it-- is it over when we get married?”

Shiv didn’t reply. He didn’t know if that was good. This was a touchy subject, and a conversation he didn’t want to have, but there was so much going on, and so much he had to decide, it was best to have all the facts. But he still didn’t know what answer he was hoping for.

“What do you mean?”

“I just,” he sighed, “When we get married, will we still have this agreement, or will… fucking the odd side piece be off the table.”

She fell quiet again. That didn’t make him feel very good.

“I just think,” he continued, “That we should discuss this, _before_ we get married.”

In another world, one where he had stayed in New York, maybe never met Greg, maybe had a nice office job, far from the supernatural horrors of the world, this conversation didn’t need to happen. They’d have been together-- no need for anything extra. In that world, Tom wouldn’t have thought to talk about this.

But that world wasn’t reality. 

“Alright,” she said, “I want to marry you.”

“That’s good.”

“I do love you.”

“I love you too.” That he was certain of. Shiv was the first person he had ever truly loved. And that wasn’t going to go away. But maybe it was possible to love more than one person. Sometimes the first love didn’t work out. But he loved Shiv. And he was relatively confident that she loved him.

“But I’ve been thinking while you’ve been out there that maybe I’m not cut out for monogamy.”

Tom felt his stomach drop. This was what he had been both fearing and hoping for. He didn’t respond right away. He hadn’t been a saint exactly the past few months, so it wasn’t like he could play the victim. Shiv hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Nothing really. It wasn’t her fault. Some people wanted that. That was alright. Tom just didn’t think he was one of them. 

“Oh,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Go to your meeting. I don’t want you to be late.”

“We can talk about this. You know, come up with something that works for both of us. There’s a way Tom.”

“Sure,” he said, “I’ll call you later and we can discuss it.”

He could hear the detachment in his voice, like he was playing a role, and not having his entire life crash in around him. It was like listening to someone else’s life, definitely not his. 

“I’ve got to go,” she said, “Bye.”

“Bye.”

He sat there for several moments after, processing things, like a delayed reaction. Maybe he was an idiot to have not put it together sooner. Maybe he should have realized. Maybe he should have just accepted it the way it was and told Shiv it was fine, they’d figure it out. 

Before he could think too much-- his brain was foggy anyway-- he called Greg, who answered after two rings.

“Hey.”

“Hello Greg.” He sounded off even to himself. Greg was going to notice. He resisted the urge to hang up.

“Are-are you alright? Did something happen?”

“Can I come over?” God this was pathetic. It was really pathetic. No fucking wonder Shiv didn’t want to be stuck with him. He didn’t like what she had to say, so there he went, fucking crawling to the man he’d been cheating on her with. How fucking misterable.

“Course,” Greg replied, “I uh, I’m here.”

“See you soon.”

He hung up, tucked his phone away and got in the car. He had lost the habit of turning the radio on right away, slightly put off by the voice in the truck. At least his brain had cleared enough to remember how to get to Greg’s apartment, and he hadn’t driven to Oregon or something. 

“Hey are you sure you’re alright?” Greg said, after he knocked just once. 

(Greg was waiting for him by the door, it seemed.)

“No,” Tom replied, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh,” Greg pulled him into a hug, “Okay.”

The nice thing about this was that Greg would never _have_ to know. Not if he didn’t tell him all about Shiv and the fact that he was pretty sure she didn’t actually want to get married and everything in between. Greg probably wouldn’t pry. And if he did, he wouldn’t after Tom shouted at him to stop.

And Greg had been fucking _waiting_ for him.

“Did something happen?” Greg asked, “I mean, did your radio get possessed again?”

“Shh,” he muttered, “I’m begging you to shut the fuck up.”

Greg kissed the top of his head, and held him. It was comforting, human to human contact. Living with the Roys was difficult. It was clear that Logan had not prioritized affection to his children, and in turn, they weren’t sure how to dish it out. That, by itself, wasn’t bad. Maybe his own mother had just been overly affectionate, and he was used to something else. But this was nice. No questions. 

“Want a drink?”

Well one question, but that one was easy to answer.

“Good God yes.”

“Sure man. Come in. Sit.”

Tom let go-- reluctantly-- and followed Greg inside. He sat down on the sofa and ran a hand over his face. He heard bottles and glasses clink in the kitchen and Greg returned, glass full of amber liquid in his hand. 

“It’s whiskey,” Greg said, “It seemed like you wanted something a little more than just beer.”

“Thanks,” Tom took a sip, “It’s good.”

“You want to talk?” Greg fell back into the chair, “I mean, like, I’ll listen if you do.”

“What are your thoughts on monogamy?” Tom asked, surprised at his own boldness. This was dangerous territory, but he needed someone to feel the same way he did. Just to know.

Greg stared at him. 

“You do know what that word means don’t you?”

“Well like yeah,” Greg frowned, “What are my _thoughts_ on it?”

“Yeah. What are your thoughts?”

“I guess I’m a fan personally. Is this, like, a delayed crisis about us?”

Tom shook his head, “It’s not about you at all actually.”

Thankful, Greg stopped asking questions. Tom didn’t offer any more information, instead sunk low in his seat and drank his whiskey. Greg watched him carefully, like he was going to run and jump out of the window or something. 

“I don’t know how to go back to New York,” Tom said. He felt the words leave his mouth, and they seemed to take a large weight off his chest with them. They fell onto the table and waited there, “I don’t know how to go back to my life after this.”

“You could stay,” Greg said.

“Not easily,” Tom replied, even though he desperately wanted to tell Greg yes.

“I know,” Greg nodded, “I know.”

“I have to call Shiv later. We’re talking about our marriage.”

What a dick thing to say, Tom thought. But Greg knew about Shiv, knew about the engagement. It wasn’t a bombshell. It was a well known fact.

“Yeah?”

Tom nodded, “But not right now. Want to?”

Greg smirked, “Want to?”

Tom managed a smile, “You’re such a dick. Making me say it. Want to bang one out? Like I didn’t _just_ tell you I have to call my fiancée. Does it turn you on?”

Greg stood up, came over and kissed him, “No. But you all worked up does a little bit actually.”

“When the fuck did you turn into that?”

“Come on,” Greg pulled him up. He took Tom’s drink and set it down, “Forget about New York for a little bit. Just be here until you can’t anymore. That’s all.”

“I can do that.”

When Shiv called that evening he said he was busy. They could talk about it later. He was busy, bad signal, all that shit. Do whatever you like, he’d said, we can decide later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg discuss their plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late! i was in at work early this morning!

“You’re actually joking,” Jonah said, when Greg presented the plan, “Are you two trying to do some kind of Romeo and Juliet double suicide thing?”

“I think it has to be done,” Greg shook his head, “You saw the claw marks in the door. We sat through that screaming shit. I don’t know what’s happening but it’s going to get worse. Even if we can get it back to the way it was before. Before was alright. We could handle alright.”

“Why you two?” 

Greg looked back and him and Tom shrugged, “It’s complicated. But I also, like, morally can’t ask it of you guys. I’m in charge and it’s definitely not in your job description to play monster bait. There’s probably, like, a waiver or something you’d have to sign.”

“Greg’s right,” Tom added, taking a step forward, “It’s the responsibility of management to deal with big issues.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked quietly. She looked up at Greg and frowned. Tom got the impression she was only asking Greg, “it’s dangerous.”

“I know,” Greg made a face that Tom thought was meant to be reassuring, but it looked more like a grimace, “But you know as well as us that this is bad. That’s the first time ever there’s been any physical damage to the building. It’s only a matter of time before something gets in and probably kills whoever is inside. We’re going to pool all our resources, and then Tom and I are going to go kill whatever it is. Or at least get rid of it.”

“I think maybe you’re right,” Jonah finally said, “But I hate it. The odds of you both getting brutally murdered are pretty high.”

“Thanks Jonah,” Tom muttered. He wondered if he could fire Jonah.

“Somebody’s gotta do it,” Greg said, brushing past them, “We’ll discuss it later. It’s time for the show.”

Sam looked between the three of them, desperate for someone to match her own wariness and concern, but they all stayed quiet. She threw her hands in the air and sighed. Tom was pretty sure she said something about men under her breath, and he managed a weak chuckle. She didn’t seem to appreciate it.

“How do you fight it?” Sam asked, “If it’s like you say it is, how do you fight it?”

“Shooting stuff tends to work,” Jonah pointed out.

“This isn’t my show!” Greg called from the studio, “We’re on in ten!”

“Better go Jonah, before Greg gets mad,” Sam said, eyeing Tom, “I’ll interrogate this one.”

Despite the fact that Sam was a good six inches, maybe more, shorter than him, he felt vaguely threatened by her. Maybe it was that she reminded him vaguely of Shiv, and he’d never have gone against Shiv, maybe it was just he knew that she probably was right about all of this. They had no real plan. He and Greg were on what was possibly a suicide mission, but there was no better way.

“So,” she said, once the studio door had closed, “How long have you and Greg been hooking up?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” 

She rolled her eyes, “Greg’s an idiot. I love him, I do, but he’s an idiot sometimes, he can’t hide anything. I didn’t realize right away, but it’s pretty obvious now. Did you actually think you were hiding it well?”

“Yes I did actually.”

“Maybe you’re his brand of idiot.”

“I’m _your_ boss.” Tom frowned, slightly offended at her words, “You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

Sam laughed in a way that told Tom she was laughing at him, “ _Greg’s_ my boss. You’re just like when the principal would come in and observe the teacher. Greg hired me last year when I was a college kid with half a year under my belt and a willingness to put up with the spooky shit. It’s the first real job I’ve ever had. You all never cared about us. I didn’t even know Waystar had radio stations till I started here. How are you going to kill it?”

“Jonah’s right. Shooting it sounds good. But honestly Sam? I don’t know if it _can_ be killed. I’m not sure it’s… tangible. It feels like maybe it’s so old it doesn’t need to be tangible anymore. That it just kind of is and it exists here for now. Maybe we can drive it away? I don’t know.”

“Well that’s fucking scary. What happens if you shoot it and it doesn’t work? What if that just makes it more mad?”

Tom considered this. It wasn’t the first time the thought had been brought to the forefront but he hated that someone else thought it to. It made it feel more likely, “Fuck if I know. But there’s no information on the thing. It could be a ghost, it could be the Goddamn Grim Reaper. All I know is it’s angry. This place already has its own ghosts. Maybe more. Maybe there’s ghosts and Bigfoot and Martians and everything else in those woods, but they don’t hurt people. This thing has to go. Greg’s right. If we can just get things back to the way they were before I came here that’s a win.”

“Right,” Sam shrugged, “I _guess_ you’re right. I just wish you had a better plan.”

“Yeah. So do I.”

“I hope you don’t get him killed.” 

“Well yeah,” Tom made a face, “I’d like to not have that on my hands.”

“Plus you think he’s hot. I didn’t know you were Greg’s type. Wall Street looking middle aged men. There’s definitely a lot of potential to make fun of him for. Assuming you guys don’t die I’m gonna have so much fun.”

“I’m hardly middle aged Sam.”

“Still, you’re more middle aged than he is,” she laughed, “I’m mostly making fun of you because I don’t think people do that very often. I’m serious though. We’re gonna be pretty pissed if you kill him. Plus wait until his mom finds out. Have you met her?”

“Ah, no.” Logan hardly discussed his brother’s side of the family, and Tom had sure never had the chance to meet anyone behind Greg. 

“She’s really nice. She sends us care packages all the time and got me a Christmas present last year but I’m _pretty_ sure she has the potential for murder. Like the woman is hardcore. It’s the Roy bloodline I think. They’re brutal people.”

“This is the most you have ever said to me and it’s all kind of threatening.”

Sam shrugged, “Good to get to know the guy who’s gonna shut you down. Anyway, I’m off for the day. Have fun.”

Logan would hate her. Tom kind of liked her.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get their first spook of the night

This was by far the most terrifying thing Tom had ever done. Even the night at the cabin was nothing compared to this. This was voluntary. He could avoid this, if he wanted to, but he was going through with it. That was the horrific part. 

When had he become...good?

Much like the trip to the campsite, which felt like ages ago, they had packed everything into the truck, but this time the mood was incredibly somber. 

“Uh,” Greg frowned, “The keys are in the kitchen. If we’re not, if you haven't heard from us by morning, maybe call someone. We have the walky, but I don’t know if it’s gonna work.”

“You guys are so stupid,” Sam said firmly, almost angrily, “Don’t die.”

She went inside. Several handshakes and well wishes later, he and Greg were on the road. The sun was beginning to set, but they had several hours until ten o’clock, when the station would be locked up, open only for the three poor fuckers stuck to visit every month. Maybe something worse, but the three of them would be together, and Tom hoped the bad things would be happy with him and Greg, out in the open as they were.

“This is spooky,” Tom said, the open road stretching out in front of them. The road wasn’t spooky normally, but driving down this abandoned stretch of road, going to where they were was inherently, well, spooky. The trees lined both sides of the road, and every shadow seemed threatening and every noise was evil.

“Yeah,” Greg said, “I think backroads are inherently scary. No lights. No people.”

“I would never want to get in a car again,” Tom said suddenly, and Greg glanced over, “I think that’s pretty brave.”

“Fuck you.”

“What? I’m being serious.”

Greg shrugged. He flipped on the radio. Programming went for another forty five minutes or so, but the signal kept going in and out, sometimes playing other stations, sometimes merely static. 

“I called my parents last night,” Tom said, “Talked for an hour and a half. About stupid shit. I hadn’t talked to them in so long. It felt like a suicide note.”

“We’re not going to die,” Greg replied, “Like, stop saying it.”

The static returned. Something was humming quietly over the noise. They looked at each other, and then the radio.

“The quiet is better anyway,” Greg reasoned, and shut it off. 

The drive continued. Tom was too nervous to talk without being sick, and so he watched Greg tap his fingers on the steering wheel, and occasionally comment on the trees and the road, and the state of the truck.

“Is that another car?” Greg asked. Tom, who had been partially zoned out, sat up and squinted. In the distance, coming towards them on the other side of the road, it did look like headlights. They were small, it was far away, but Tom had seen enough headlights in the dark to say it was probably another car.

“Looks like it.”

“I don’t think I like that,” Greg said, and clicked the locks like that might somehow keep them safe, “There’s like, nothing up there.”

“Someone at one of the campsites?” Tom suggested.

“I hope so.”

The headlights moved towards them. They weren’t speeding or anything, and Tom didn’t really think they were about to be run off the road, but it was wrong nonetheless. Out of place.

But they moved steadily forward. It wasn’t full dark yet, Tom could start to make out the color-- green, he thought-- but they were still too far away from much else. Greg leaned forward, like he was trying to examine it closer.

“What? You never seen a car before?”

“Look at it Tom,” Greg said. He had slowed down a bit, but the other car was still coming. Tom wasn’t sure what he was meant to be looking at. It looked like a pretty normal car. Maybe a little beat up, but this was the least scary thing that had happened to him since coming here. It was odd, to run into someone else on the road, but not impossible. The dead ghosts proved it.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Just wait,” Greg said. The static returned by itself, mixed in with quiet music Tom couldn’t quite hear, “Till we get closer.”

Tom frowned and leaned forward too.

“Ah,” Tom nodded, “You mean the fact that that car is surely not driveable? It looks totaled.”

“It was,” Greg frowned, “Look at the plates.”

“Canada’s not that far away Greg, you should know that. I’m more concerned about the state of the car, not where it’s from.”

“That car was totaled,” Greg said. They were gaining on each other now. The front bumper on the green car was dragging on the ground, both headlights blown out. The hood was bunched up, and Tom could make out several holes in the windshield. If he listened over the static, he could hear the screech of the bumper on the road, “I know because I was in it.”

“You’re saying that’s the same car?”

“Yes.”

“Pull over,” Tom said quickly, urgently, “Get out of it’s way.”

“Yeah I think so,” Greg flipped on the turn signal and pulled off onto the grass. They both stared at the approaching car, and Tom honestly wasn’t sure what he was going to see. The windows were blackened. It looked a little like soot to him, and one of the backdoors was missing in its entirety, the roof mostly caved in. 

“Did you see anybody in it?” Greg asked, panic creeping into his tone.

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I couldn’t see in.”

“Yeah me either. What the fuck man,” Greg took his seatbelt off, unlcoked the door and practically threw himself from the car. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tom called. He sighed and got out to follow him when Greg didn’t answer.

“What the fuck!” Greg pointed in the direction of the retreating car. The horrific noise of metal on concrete was much louder out here, “What the fuck is this? Ghost fucking cars now?”

“I think it’s scared,” Tom said, not remotely sure of that fact. It seemed like the right thing to say, “It knows we’re onto it. It’s trying to scare us. We can’t chicken out now.”

Greg shook his head, “It’s a monster. I just- what the fuck.”

“I know,” Tom held up a hand, “But it wasn’t real. Like the rain right? Just bullshit. That’s all. Just bullshit.”

“He wasn’t even good at driving that car,” Greg mused. 

Tom went over and put both his hands on either side of Greg’s face to get him to focus if nothing else. Greg looked so fucking pathetic, all sad and shit, and it honestly made Tom feel for the guy. Greg covered one of Tom’s hands with his own, and brushed his thumb across the back of Tom’s hand. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Tom said firmly, “It’s a Goddamn tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t _yours_ either.”

“We’re talking about you fucklehead,” Tom shook his head, “Listen to me. This is the nicest I’m ever going to be to you probably so fucking _bathe_ in it. It’s terrible, but his death is not your fault. This isn’t, fucking, MacBeth. You don’t have blood on your hands Greg. You have to fucking say it, because my arms are getting tired and we have a fucking thing to kill.”

Greg was silent for a bit. Tom couldn’t figure out what was going through his head. 

“It’s not my fault,” Greg muttered, “But you have to say it too.”

“I didn’t even know the man, why would I think that?”

Greg frowned at him, “You know what I mean. Your uncle.”

“Come on. Don’t turn this around on me, we’re not even talking about that. It’s your turn on the hotseat.”

“You’re the one with tired arms.”

“Fine. It wasn’t my fault either. Whatever. Let’s go?”

He thought he heard something scream and looked over at the trees. Greg did the same but everything remained still and quiet. 

“Yeah. Sorry. I just got spooked I guess.”

“I think it’s understandable given the circumstances Greg,” he sighed, “Come on. It’s getting late. Let’s fucking get this shit over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg meet the monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're in the endgame now lol

By the time they arrived, the sun was gone and the clouds had rolled in, so even the potential of moonlight was gone. Greg handed him a shotgun and a flashlight, and tucked the walky into his back pocket.

“This was the place,” Greg said, “I just feel it.”

“Uh huh,” Tom replied, “I did too.”

“What the fuck man.”

“I really don’t know.”

“Good to go?” Greg held his flashlight up to his chin, like a kid about to tell a ghost story.

“Don’t do that,” he smacked Greg’s hand, “That’s stupid.”

“Come on you don’t like a good ghost story?”

“When I’m not _living_ in one Gregory. Which way?”

They paused, and Tom strained to hear. The forest was most quiet. The wind rustled through the trees, like whispers in the dark, and somewhere an owl hooted. It made Greg jump.

“Pussy,” Tom whispered. 

“Fuck you.”

“Which way, do you think?” Tom asked. 

The same screech they had heard before rose up. Being outside didn’t help, and Tom thought about jamming his fingers in his ears to help. They both glanced in the direction.

Greg shined his light ahead, “Might as well. We’re fucking dead anyway.”

“That’s not very confident Greg,” he reached forward and took Greg’s hand firmly, “If you let go of my hand and get killed I’m going to be very upset with you. I might even cry. Honest to God tears might flow.”

“Promise I won’t let go then,” Greg said, “Don’t want you to get all teary eyed on me.”

“Greg?”

“Hmm?”

_I love you._

“I think we’ll be alright.” It was not what he wanted to say, but it was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He tried again, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

No luck. He’d have to figure that out at some point. 

Greg nodded and trudged forward, “Probably. Maybe.”

Another scream. That one sounded more human, Tom thought. Less animal, less monster. Every instinct in his body was telling him to run. This was flight or fight at it’s base, and Tom’s instinct was to _bolt._ To get _out_ because if he stayed here, he was probably going to die.

But if Greg was going to go ahead, Tom was going to have to go with him. Damn Greg for making him responsible for someone else.

He wished the moon would come out or something. The lights from the flashlights were hardly enough to see by, and every rustle of leaves, every gust of wind was enough to give him a fucking heat attack. Greg held on tight though, and that was enough he supposed. 

“Do you think it knows we’re here?” Greg whispered, “Like, it can sense us or whatever?”

“I really don’t know.” But Tom _did_ think so. It, whatever it was, seemed to know more about them then they could ever hope to know about it.

Greg led the way. Tom had no idea how much time was passing-- if it was passing at all. Occasionally they would follow a screech or cry from somewhere inside. They mostly didn’t speak. Tom wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like their presence wasn’t known. Maybe Greg was feeling the same way-- like if he opened his mouth he was going to be sick.

The trees gave way to a clarence, hardly noticeable in the dim light from their flashlights, and Greg stopped short and Tom nearly walked into him.

“What the fuck man?”

“I need you to like, confirm that I’m not going insane,” Greg whispered. Tom brushed past him with a boldness he didn’t know he possessed. Hopefully he didn’t use all his bravery then and there. He had a feeling he was going to need it. 

“Oh,” Tom said, staring into the decaying face of his own uncle, as he was the night he’d died-- injuries included, “No, you’re not insane.”

“Oh good,” Greg said, a little higher in pitch than it should have been, “That’s good.”

“You were foolish to come,” it said. Tom found it hard _not_ to think of the face as that of his uncle Fred, but he tried not to. This decayed and bloody form-- this was not how he wanted to think about the uncle who he had loved, “Both of you. Foolish.”

“Hey fuck you man,” Greg said, and Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Leave it to fucking Greg to tell the monster “fuck you” as a first step. It was fucking stupid, but also Tom thought it was kind of brave. Leave it to Greg to be a fucking dichotomy in the face of unspeakable evil.

It cocked it’s head. Tom thought of every zombie movie, where the zombie sees it’s victim-- maybe one it had known once upon a time-- and tilts its head just a bit before attacking. It was going to kill them. Tom felt his stomach lurch. 

“That’s not very nice,” it giggled, and with a flick of it’s hand, Tom was helpless to watch as Greg flew-- fucking _flew_ a good ten feet, smacked into a tree trunk and hit the ground. Like a ragdoll. No wonder the radio tower was nothing for this fucking thing, “Are you going to be nicer now? Or should I do that again?”

Realistically, Tom thought he had two options. He could tackle the thing. It probably wouldn’t work. But he knew it was tangible because he had the scars to prove it. Or he could go check on Greg, who _hadn’t_ gotten up from the ground yet. Did he want revenge more than he cared about Greg?

It took less than a second to decide that _no_ , he did _not_ want revenge more, before he was racing over to the ground, practically throwing himself down

(don’t be dead don’t be dead don’t be dead)

and feeling desperately for a pulse. It was there, strong-- thank God for that. He gently lifted Greg’s head onto his lap and looked up at the monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom faces the dark.

“You’re dead,” Tom said, and that was true. Technically. 

His uncle had been dead for a long time, and it showed. This was not a ghost. Maybe zombie _was_ a good word. His clothes were ripped and bloodied, and in the dim light and closer up it looked as if the wound was still gaping, still bleeding. Tom tried not to focus on it, lest he make himself sick, “You’re not even real.”

“I’m not real?” it-- Tom could _not_ acknowledge this as a person, not as his uncle, not as anybody. It was an _entitiy_ maybe. Nothing human, nothing good. Just evil.

“You died,” Tom said. Greg stirred in his lap, and Tom put a hand on his face gently, “You can’t have me and you can’t have him. Whatever fucking demon you are, you can just go back to where you came from.”

“Tom?” Greg asked.

“Shh,” Tom whispered, “You alright?”

“I think so.”

Tom helped him sit up and Greg shook his head. He might have had a concussion-- Tom was no doctor-- but he seemed alright for the moment. They both looked back at it.

“Oh,” Greg said, as if whatever he was about to say had been knocked into him by the fucking tree, “That must be your uncle. You guys don’t really look alike.”

Fucking stupid wonderful Greg and his stupid wonderful comments. 

“It’s not anything anymore,” Tom said, echoing Greg’s words from months ago. It felt like another lifetime. 

He helped Greg stand, and the two faced the thing once more. 

“Come on, give it up,” Tom said, “You’re only using his face to scare me. I’m not buying it. Show us what the fuck you look like.”

It laughed-- not his uncle’s laugh, which had been booming. He used to play Santa for the local kids, with that jovial laugh of his-- but something high pitched and screeching. The flesh melted away, falling into nothing but smoke. Greg reached for his gun. Tom didn’t know how you shot smoke, but Greg did it anyway. The smoke split around the bullet easily.

“Well fuck,” Tom said, “There goes that fucking theory.”

The smoke curled around them, like a black curtain, and Tom was cut off from everything but himself. This was bad. They had been banking on bullets doing _something_ but how did you shoot smoldering?

“Oh this is fun,” he said, reverting back to the easiest thing for him--being a dick, “Nice and spooky. Are you too scared to face us?”

Being a dick to Greg was one thing. Taunting a monster he did not understand and had been known to kill was probably not a great idea.

“Greg?” he asked, “Can you hear me?”

If Greg could hear him-- Tom sort of thought maybe he couldn’t-- he didn’t respond. 

The noise of the dark sounded like whispers. They weren’t understandable, too quiet, too distant. Tom reached a hand out, but felt nothing. Greg had _just_ been next to him.

“I thought I wasn’t real,” it said and though it had no face, Tom could hear a smirk. Tom couldn’t understand how something could grumble and screech at the same time. It laughed, like it could read his mind. He cocked his own shotgun, but resisted firing. The bullets had gone right through, and he couldn’t bear the thought of accidently hitting Greg, “This isn’t _real_ enough for you Tommy?”

“No,” Tom said firmly, “You’re not real. You’re not anything.”

“Then run away,” the voice was circling him, taunting him, “Run away like before. I’ll take him instead and you can go. You can run Tommy, but you can’t hide from me. Run away and I’ll see you later. Run away and buy your time with him.”

“You’re just smoke,” Tom shook his head, “Smoke and _nothing_ else. The fucking wind.”

“Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,” it said, and gathered up, back into Tom’s poor dead uncle-- vaguely at least. It was still smoking almost, and not quite as firm as a person ought to be. Bleeding smoke. 

It reminded Tom a little bit of old horror movies, where the poor fucker would grow claws on the full moon or whatever, and Tom watched it latch onto Greg and throw him onto the ground. Hard. Tom winced at the noise. 

“Not real,” it laughed, a barking horrible sound that went up through the trees. Bracing itself, Tom watched that fucking claw drag down Greg’s chest-- they’d match, he thought stupidly, numbly, “This isn’t real?”

For the first time in his life, fight won out. Tom ran at the thing, sending both of them tumbling off to the side. But at least it was away from Greg. After a struggle, Tom could feel it’s cold, dead skin. 

Fuck. Maybe it was real after all. Maybe it was going to rip out his heart or throat or snap his neck. 

“Somebody grew up,” it laughed again, and kicked him off as if he weighed nothing. Tom hit the ground hard, felt the air rush out of him. He pushed himself over, gasping as he did so. It was going to kill Greg if he didn’t do something. He tried desperately to make himself breath. Something cracked, and he had a sickening feeling it was a bone-- Greg’s.

“Fine,” he said his voice hoarse and his breathing raspy. He managed to stand, ignoring the dizziness. There was blood seeping into the grass and he half thought Greg might be dead, “Maybe you’re real.”

It smiled, it’s mouth stretching much wider than any human mouth could. Tom was giving it what it wanted. Recognition. 

“But,” Tom cocked his gun, “Perks of being real pal. You get shot like anybody else.”

He tried to imagine he was out hunting, like he did when he was a kid. A head shot was quick, painless. An efficient way to kill. He took aim and fired. It was real, it was tangible and Goddamnit a bullet would hit. 

It screeched. Loudly. He winced at the sound, but the bullet landed, sending something darker than blood into the air. It didn’t die, like it should have, but stood up and stumbled. It fixed it’s eyes on Tom.

“Bye,” Tom waved, “See you in hell.”

It fell to its knees, and dissolved into smoke, rushing past him in a cloud of cold black _nothing._

“Greg,” he stumbled over, fell down, hard, onto his knees.

There was blood everywhere, and Greg’s arm was surely not meant to bend that way. He felt frantically for a pulse-- found it, weak but beating. Too much blood. He felt a little sick again. 

“Greg, hey,” he shook him gently, “You were right. It was fucking real.”

“That’s good,” Greg muttered.

“We got to get you to a hospital,” Tom said frantically. It was at least half an hour, probably more. He ripped off his jacket and pressed it down to Greg’s chest. That was what you were supposed to do right? Stop the blood flow? 

It would take time to get there, but for once, Tom hoped the strange way time flowed up here would work to their advantage. Something for fuck’s sake had to work in their favor. 

“Greg?”

“Hmm?”

“You better not be fucking dying,” he said thorough clentched teeth, “Alright? Promise me.”

“Promise.”

“It’s gonna hurt,” Tom said, “I’m sorry.”

With a groan, he got Greg to his feet. He was grateful Greg wasn’t too much taller than him-- if Tom had been Shiv’s height, he’d never be able to do this without serious difficulty.

You probably weren’t supposed to move someone who was as hurt as Greg was, but there was no cell signal up here, and an ambulance couldn’t have made it up here anyway. 

“Stay with me,” he put a light hand on Greg’s face, “Please.”

“Sure Tom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom calls home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done! wild lol

He was pretty sure that Greg was just unconscious. That he was still alive. He couldn’t see much in the dim truck light, but if Greg died before they got to the hospital he was going to fucking kill him.

There was blood on his hands, starting to dry. He hadn’t noticed it until the drive began, the rust color standing out on his white knuckled grip.

“You’d better not be dying,” Tom muttered.

“Course not,” Greg replied, then coughed. He felt heavy against Tom’s shoulder

(dead weight)

and Tom kept his eyes on the road. He was going as fast as the old truck would go, and he sent a silent prayer that the truck would make it. The thing was old enough to have been his car’s grandfather, and it wasn’t meant to speed down the highway like this.

“I’m fucking serious,” Tom said, “Your ass is is going to the hospital, and they’re going to fix you right up. Sam said your mom definitely could commit murder. Do you think that could happen?”

He’d picked up Greg’s nervous habit, nervous talking. If he stopped talking though, Greg wouldn’t have anything to focus on.

“Greg?”

He risked it long enough to reach out, feel around to look for any sign of life. If he listened close enough he could hear Greg’s ragged breathing. It sounded bad, but it was better than nothing. He had no idea what had happened when the dark had split them up. Had no idea how bad Greg was hurt. 

“You’ll live,” Tom said, and put a hand on Greg’s thigh. He was pretty sure Greg couldn’t feel it, and maybe it was more for his own benefit than Greg’s, “You’re not dying on me.”

Once again, the drive passed him by in a blur. Every once and a while he remembered checking to make sure Greg was still with him. He’d done a pretty good job staunching the blood flow, and he probably wasn’t going to bleed out, but Tom didn’t know how much blood you could lose and still be alright. That, coupled with everything else worried him. 

“If your mother doesn’t kill me, Sam probably will,” Tom said. He didn’t expect a reply, but the silence was killing him. He didn’t dare turn the radio on-- even though he thought that the voice would not come though, “Can’t believe you have _friends._ Can’t they tell you’re a fucking moron?”

He could see the lights of the town. He had no idea what time it was, since the clock on the dashboard had stopped sometimes during the night, but there were hints of morning in the air. 

Tom sped into town. Thankfully the roads were mostly empty this time of night, so the traffic was non existent, and there was no one for him to crash into. Small miracles, he guessed. 

The hospital entrance was bright and well it, and several people rushed over to help when he walked in covered in blood, dragging Greg a bit. He knew it probably hurt, but Greg was way too out of it to know.

“What happened?” a man in scrubs asked. 

“Bear,” Tom replied, the lie out of his mouth before he could stop it. It had worked once before, why not again? They had bears out here after all. He hoped it wouldn’t draw too many questions. 

“Are you hurt?” a different woman asked.

“No,” Tom shook his head and swallowed, “This- this is all his.”

Maybe they were too concerned with Greg to worry about him when he was awake and coherent to really bother with him but that was fine, they left him be. 

He sat down in one of the chairs and dug out his phone. The ER was mostly empty this time of night, but the one woman half asleep at the front desk kept eyeing him. Probably because he was covered in blood and looked like he’d been hit by a bus. 

First, he texted Jonah-- the first of them in his contacts-- that they were not dead, that Greg was in the hospital, and that he was pretty sure it was solved and he would explain more later. He would have to call Greg’s mother. But he couldn't bring himself to stand up and go back to the truck to find Greg’s phone to get her number. That would just have to wait. 

Instead, he looked for his aunt’s number and called her. It was early morning back home, if the clock on the wall was accurate, and she’d always been an early riser. He had selected her from his contacts before he could think too much about what he was doing. 

“Tommy? Is everything alright?”

“Hi Aunt Diane,” Tom cleared his throat, “How are you?”

“I’m just fine. It’s awful early for you there? You’re in Washington aren’t you?”

“It’s just after four,” he pushed himself up in his chair, as he was starting to sink. He wasn’t tired, not really, but he wasn’t quite hopped up on adrenaline either. He thought perhaps that the night’s events had not set in yet. That when it did he would probably just pass out and hit the floor, “I have to tell you something.”

“Sure,” she said. He could picture her in that house-- she’d never moved, even though it was too big for just her, probably sitting on her back porch as was her habit in the early hours, “You can tell me anything.”

“We found that _thing,_ ” he said, “The thing that killed Uncle Fred.”

His aunt did not respond, but he could hear her breathing on the other end of the phone. 

“And I don’t think we killed it. Not really because I don’t know if it can be killed with just a gun, but we showed it who was fucking- sorry Aunt Diane, _fricking_ boss. We did. I got a good shot in.”

“That’s real good Tommy,” she whispered, “You were always a good shot, just like Freddy. Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m alright. I’m sorry for acting as I did. Pretending it was just an animal after. I shouldn’t have done that. You were the only person that knew the truth. I was just so scared,” he sounded like a little kid, and she probably heard it too. 

“I know dear,” she sighed, “I’m proud of you for this. You think, well, do you think you can kill it?”

“I don’t, ah, I don’t know. But I think we got it running. Scared like it’s never been before. It might be weak for a while. I don’t know really. Me and Greg. Greg, he got hurt. Really bad.”

“Now I thought your fiancée was named Shiobhan? Did I miss something? I’m sorry if I did. That’s not very good of me is it?”

Leave it to Aunt Diane to assume that she’d misheard his fiancée’s name that badly. 

“No Greg’s not, he’s not- we’re just. I don’t know exactly what we are.”

“Alright Tommy. I understand,” she chuckled, “Is your new friend going to be alright?”

“I don’t know. I _think_ so. I wasn’t running this time. We’re at the hospital now. I’m just waiting to hear back from the doctors.”

“Why don’t you and your friend come see me?” she said, “When he gets better. I’ll say an extra prayer for him this morning Tommy. And for you too.”

“That sounds nice,” Tom said. He was going to need all the fucking prayers she could spare if he was going to go through with all this, “Maybe we will. Listen, I should go. I’m thinking someone might come tell me something soon, but I’ll talk to you soon ok? I won’t do this again.”

“That sounds lovely. You go take care of him. I’ll talk to you later.”

They hung up and Tom ran a hand over his face, told the receptionist he’d be right back if the doctor’s had any updates, and steeled himself to make a shitty first impression on Greg’s mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u think this is just that one scene from twilight... you're right

Marianne kept glaring at him across the bed, and it wasn’t exactly like he could blame her. Her son had been fine until he showed up, and now he was in the hospital with a fairly extensive list of injuries and had been out cold for three days. It was hard to find a way that this wasn’t, technically, his fault. 

But now Greg was waking up for real now, beyond the little bits of consciousness from yesterday that he probably wouldn’t even remember, and she turned her attention to her son. He sat back and let her. That was only right after all. 

“Mom?”

“Hi Greg,” she said softly and sat on the edge of the bed, and Tom watched her brush a thumb across his cheek, “How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“I’ll bet,” she chuckled, “You were out for several days. Do you remember much?”

“Not really.”

Greg sounded groggy, almost drunk. But he was _alive_ and Tom would take that. Would take the sterile smell of the hospital, and the ugly white walls, and the incessant beeping of machines if it meant that Greg was alive.

“Where’s Tom?” 

He looked up at his name. It had not escaped him, what might have been going through Greg’s mind, waking up in a hospital again, not seeing him right away. He didn’t know how much of the other night Greg would recall and for all he knew, Tom could have been dead. 

“I’m right here,” he sat forward quickly, put a hand on Greg’s arm, careful not to accidentally knock anything loose. The cast was on the other side thankfully, but there were so many damn wires and tubes and Tom didn’t want to mess any of them up, “Alive and well.”

“Oh,” Greg smiled. It was lopsided, and Tom pressed down a sob. He’d never been so happy to see Greg’s dumbass smile, “Thought you might be dead. Couldn’t remember.”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I’m here.”

“Mom, can me and Tom talk?” Greg asked. The words were slow, clearly he was focusing hard on making them comprehensible. Tom thought he maybe wanted to prove he was well enough to be left to his own devices.

“You need to sleep,” Marianne said. She eyed them both, “That’s the best medicine.”

“I will,” Greg nodded, then winced, “I will after. We need to talk.”

Tom wasn’t going to argue against Marianne, but he did think they needed to talk without her there. If she heard Tom spouting off about monsters and shit, she was sure to do everything in her power to keep him away from her son. And that would have been fair enough.

“Alright,” she nodded, but Tom didn’t think she sounded thrilled. She leaned down and kissed Greg’s forehead, “I’ll go get some coffee. I’ll be back soon.”

“Mkay.”

She glared at Tom, “Make sure he goes to sleep.”

“Yes ma’am. I sure will,” He was from the Midwest afterall. His mother had taught him how to address people, _especially_ if he was probably on their shit list.

When she had left, leaving the door open a jar on her way, Tom gently brought Greg’s hand up and kissed it, “Thought you were going to die you fucking moron.”

“Feels like it. I can’t move that well.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re on every painkiller known to mankind and you got carved like a fucking turkey. It’s an addict’s dream in that IV bag. You lost a lot of blood. Fucking messed you up.”

“Oh,” Greg accepted this information like you would accept the special of the day at a restaurant, “Are you hurt?”

“No. Couple of cuts and bruises. Might never sleep again but I’ll live. So will you. I didn’t know if I was supposed to call your mom, but I thought it was better. Everybody came to see you. Sam, Mike, and Jonah brought flowers,” he nodded to the vase, the flowers almost in full bloom now.

“He likes these,” Sam had emphasized, placing the vase in Tom’s hands like he was supposed to do something with that information. But he filed it away, that Greg liked daffodils. What the fuck. Why did he care so much about the tiny details of who Greg was? The things he didn’t know yet that seemed to matter. What exactly did it mean? 

(But he knew well enough what it meant. That was just love. He wanted to know Greg’s favorite flower and favorite cocktail and the sports he watched and all the mundane shit that had been pushed back in order for them to talk about ghosts.)

They had been quiet when Tom had explained it all, wide eyed until he finished, but had accepted this explanation. It made sense after all, and it wasn’t exactly like they’d been skeptics in the first place. Maybe they wouldn’t dislike him so much now. Maybe they would hate him even more.

“Did we do it?”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, “I think we did it. At least it's gone from here. I don’t know if it’s gone forever and I don’t know if it’s the only one but I think we’re safe for right now.”

“That’s good.”

“I thought you were going to die on me Mulder,” Tom said again, simply because he had thought that. Even the first day in the hospital, he thought Greg was going to die. That the dark was going to make good on it’s threat and take Greg too, “You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Sorry Scully.”

“Are these going to be our new names? I think people will make fun of us for them. They’re kind of cheesy?”

“Kinda nice though,” Greg muttered.

“I thought I might stay,” Tom said, trying out how it sounded and realizing he liked it, the idea of staying there, “In Washington.”

“You’re gonna stay?” Greg sounded so hopeful that Tom wanted very badly to burst into tears about the whole thing.

“Yeah. I mean. Logan might have me bumped off, and I can never show my face in New York again, but here’s the thing,” he frowned, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Fuckin’ sap,” Greg said, which was honestly a better reaction than Tom had feared. 

“I’ll take it back. Don’t test me Big Bird.”

“Love you too,” Greg smiled.

There were so many unanswered questions. Some, would be answered soon enough. Like how Shiv would react when he told her that he wasn’t coming back and just how angry could he possibly make Logan. Others would take time. Like would the ghosts quit visiting the station or were they doomed to wander that road forever? Would the phone still ring now? 

(Others still, he might never know. Like if the dark was dead, if it was able to die. _What_ it even was in the first place. And what else was out there?)

But those didn’t seem to matter so much right now. 

“You mean I didn’t tell you that for months only for it to be that simple?” Tom shook his head, “Could have saved me a lot of trouble you dick.”

“Guess so.”

Tom leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the forehead. He wasn’t sure exactly what hurt and what didn’t, but it seemed safe enough. 

“I love you,” he said again.

Greg chuckled, “I love you too.”

“Your mom’s nice. She might hate me a little bit though. I sort of got the impression that she might hate me?”

“Nah,” Greg sighed, “She doesn’t. She’s just worried ‘bout me is all. Glad you’re not dead.”

“Yeah. That’s just you dumbass. Some of us managed to stay upright.”

“I thought you mighta died too,” Greg shook his head, “I’m tired.”

“You go to sleep so your mother doesn’t have my head on a platter. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

This seemed enough for Greg who settled back down and was soon asleep. There were a million things Tom needed to sort out, a dozen people to talk to, and one engagement to break off, but he decided that could all wait. 

He had _promised_ not to go after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has a Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to last chapter!

“I’ve been thinking about the radio station,” Greg said, “About how Uncle Logan is sure to shut us down and I have an idea.”

“Does it involve me not being taken out by one of Logan’s hitmen?”

Greg laughed, then winced. He was healing nicely-- all the doctors said so, but he wasn’t back to normal yet. There was still a wrist cast to contend with, and several stitches that hadn’t come out yet, since the cuts had been so deep, but the X-Rays showed all his ribs were healing nicely, and he was on the right track to making a full recovery. Tom still worried he was going to hurt him, but Greg insisted they sit together, still sleep in the same bed. 

(Tom was incredibly grateful for it even if it wasn’t probably as comfortable for Greg as it was for him.)

“I mean, hopefully yeah.”

“What is it?”

Tom had officially checked out of the hotel, and paid the enormous bill before anything else. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it, but he was going to be out of a job the minute Logan got wind of this, and he was going to be in enough trouble without Logan suing him. 

Greg had been more than accommodating, and Tom had officially moved in. There hasn’t been much of a conversation around it. It just kind of happened. 

Besides, he needed someone to help around the house when his mother left although Marianne had refused to leave until she had cleaned the entire house, ensured Greg had all the medication he needed and set up a follow up appointment, bitched a bit about the state of Greg’s fridge and pantry and until she had deemed Tom worthy enough-- that had taken an extra two days at least, until she had stopped at the table where he was typing, and kissed his forehead and thanked him for looking after her boy, too quiet for Greg to hear from the other room. 

(Tom felt kind of warm inside that she approved of him. Logan had never approved of him. Not really, no matter what he did. He thought maybe Marcia liked him well enough, but it was Logan’s approval he so desperately wanted and would never get.)

“I mean like,” Greg shifted in his seat and Tom sat up until he was settled, then leaned back down. He didn’t like being away from Greg so much now, afraid of what might be waiting when he came back. It was _probably_ a good idea to see a therapist about all this, but that was on the backburner right now, “My Grandpa is always looking for a way to get back at Logan.”

“You think Grandpa Ewan could help?” Tom hadn’t considered that. It was easy to forget about Ewan, who he didn’t know, and who seemed like the black sheep of the Roy family, nestled away in the Great White North as he was. Tom had honestly never given him much consideration. 

“Maybe. Mom thinks maybe.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Greg reasoned, “I think he likes to spend his money on things Logan wouldn’t like. And he’s good at it. I think if I like, present it as an opportunity to stanch the flow of hate-- that’s what he always says-- coming from Logan’s part of the news, and as a way to like, make him mad it might work. Did you meet him?”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I believe Logan likes to refer to him as Saint fucking Ewan of Greenpeace.”

Greg laughed again, “That’s a good one. I’m thinking maybe he, like, figures out how to buy it. He wasn’t super that thrilled when I started working here, under the Waystar umbrella, but I guess it was so far away from everything that it was alright. He thought journalism was noble enough. You’re probably gonna have to impress him.”

Tom groaned, and pressed his face into Greg’s shoulder, “Great.”

“You’ll be fine. I promise. Grandpa he- he’s tough but he’s not that bad.”

“Call him. Get it out of the way. The suspense is fucking killing me.”

Greg laughed, “Alright. Don’t be weird while I’m on the phone. I’m going to put it on speaker.”

Tom zippered his lips and watched Greg call. If this went well-- then the world was their fucking oyster. The only person who would dare go against Logan was big brother Ewan, and if they had him on their side, Tom might actually live. 

(If it didn’t work-- well, Greg had Canadian citizenship. Maybe they’d just get married so Tom could get a green card and fuck off to Canada for the rest of their lives, too far away for Logan to bother with. He didn’t really want to become an expatriate over this, and he hoped Ewan would be open.)

“Hi Grandpa. It’s Greg.”

“I do have caller ID Greg. I take it you’re recovering well?” Ewan said. Tom thought he and Logan sounded a bit alike, though he honestly thought Ewan sounded just the tiniest bit nicer. Maybe he was just overly used to Logan’s gruffness that anything less just sounded nicer.

“Yeah I’m-I’m up and at ‘em again.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Your mother and I were very concerned.”

“Grandpa I had kind of like, a business idea. I thought you might like it.”

“I’m listening.”

Tom felt a little bit like he was watching Shark Tank, only he probably wouldn’t have trusted Greg to pitch an idea to the sharks. Hopefully his grandfather was used to Greg’s cadence, and the way he presented ideas.

“You know the radio station? The one I work at.”

“I am aware of it, yes.”

“How would you like to buy it?”

“Why?”

“Because it’d make Uncle Logan mad,” Greg said. 

Ewan didn’t reply at first, then Tom heard him chuckle quietly, “Why’s that Greg?”

“Because he doesn’t like it. It’s outdated. Tom’s here to, like, financially examine it and he says it’s not worth that much so I think he probably wants to dump it on someone who will buy it for the land or just fire all of us and make it more Waystar, but I think radio is important. Plus, like, no one here watches ATN and if Logan shuts us down, I don’t know where they’ll get their news.”

That was honestly kind of impressive. He didn’t know Greg had it in him. Maybe he could have pitched on Shark Tank.

“Who’s Tom?” Ewan asked.

“Tom used to work for Waystar. He quit though—well he’s _going_ to quit, after hanging around the station enough. We’re, uh, dating.”

“So you’ve finally started seeing someone again. That’ll get your mother off your back I’d imagine. Is he there?”

The easy acceptance of Greg’s mother and grandfather— at least as far as Tom could tell gave him more hope that his own parents would see Greg as just Greg and not anything else. That Tom wouldn’t have to explain his sexuality to them. Especially since he wasn’t even sure what it was or how he was supposed to explain to his parents why there wasn’t going to be a Roy family wedding in his future. 

Greg had fucking come out of nowhere that was for sure. 

“Ah, hello sir,” Tom said, Greg holding the phone out for him, “I’m Tom.”

“Yes, so I heard,” Ewan replied, “You’re seeing my grandson? And you’re quitting at Waystar?”

“Yes. Logan sent me to evaluate the station. I believe it was a final trial before Shiv and I could marry.”

Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say.

“Gregory?”

“Yes Grandpa?” Greg sat up, like a little kid about to be reamed out by a parent. Tom hoped that wasn’t the case. 

“You _stole_ my brother’s daughter’s fiancé?”

“I mean. In the technical sense yeah. It was a mutual thing, a mutual stealing if you will. It’s not exactly like Dad was. It’s good. All consensual here. It’s good.”

They waited. Ewan considered. Tom thought maybe it was all over for them, and Canada seemed suddenly very, _very,_ appealing.

“Tom,” Ewan said and Tom understood why Greg had sat up straighter, “Fax me your financial analysis. Let me see what I’m spending on Greg’s Christmas present this year.”

“You’ll do it?” Greg asked. His expression seemed to say that he’d only been about half certain that this would work. Tom had been even less certain.

“Fax?” Tom mouthed, in mock confusion. Greg stifled a laugh.

“Assuming I can, yes. I’ll call you back in a few days and let you know. Radio is a dying art. I’d be very proud if you kept it going. And are you resting like your mother asked? She’s worried about you. I’m a little tired of hearing about it since you sound fine to me.”

“Yes Grandpa. I’ll go take a nap right now.”

“Alright then. Much to think about. Talk later.”

Greg hung up, “Well?”

“What the fuck? What the fuck he’s so… normal? Is it the Candian water? What the fuck?”

Greg leaned over and kissed him, “Guess it’s going to work out. Would you like to take a nap with me?”

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you


	32. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally settling down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well! that's a wrap! thanks for hanging with me folks, I hope you enjoyed it.

_Six months later._

There was a gentle breeze this morning, blowing through the trees outside the kitchen window. Tom didn’t realize it but he had missed the green when he was in Manhattan. It reminded him of when he was a kid back home in a way and that was comforting. Things were peaceful again, like they had been when he was young. Funny how things ended up.

He took a sip of his coffee. Greg had finally let him buy good shit and he actually looked forward to the morning cup now, “Greg you’re going to be late.”

“Yeah yeah,” Greg called, half jogging into the kitchen. He paused to scratch Mondale behind the ears, “I’m here. Is there coffee?”

“For my favorite college boy?” Tom smiled, “Sure is.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Greg dropped his backpack at the table and went over to the coffee pot, “I know you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m actually trying to be nice, dickhead,” Tom shook his head, “What time are you supposed to be there?”

“In like forty five minutes. I’ll take the coffee to go.”

“Yeah don’t want to fuck things up on your first day, that’d be embarrassing.”

Greg chuckled, and slid his laptop into his bag, “Thanks for your vote of confidence in me. What’re you doing today?”

“Sam and I are holding interviews down at the station as per Ewan’s request to find real journalists to give the people real news,” Tom replied, “Remember? Fresh blood. Now that you’re a fancy college man.”

“I’m actually _technically_ your boss now,” Greg smiled, “So you better behave yourself.”

“Love it when you talk like that,” Tom took another sip of coffee, “Get out of here before I drag you back to bed with me. God that’s hot.”

“Yeah pull yourself together man, I can’t be late,” Greg slung his backpack over his shoulder, and kissed Tom, “I’m going. Hey, I love you?”

“I love you too. Drive safe. See you later.”

“See you later. Text me if there’s any stand outs and don’t, uh, don’t be a dick to them?”

“Me? Never.”

Greg rolled his eyes, and laughed on his way out, pausing only to say goodbye to the dog. Tom smiled after him. 

Several hours and several interviews later, he and Sam were having cold pizza for lunch and reviewing which people they thought might be the best fit. Even though Tom had told everybody that Mondale wasn’t supposed to have people food, Sam tossed her pizza crust onto the ground for him.

“Who’s the least likely to freak out about the whole haunting thing?” Sam asked, “At least it’s only mostly the ghosts now. So far.”

“I think that’s the key,” Tom nodded, laughing. His phone dinged, and he looked over.

**Greg: How’s Montanna sound for a long weekend?**

**Tom: I can’t say I have opinions on Montanna. Why?**

**Greg: A mom and her kids were camping. Apparently a “black mass” stalked their campsite till morning. Might be fun.**

**Tom: sounds like the wind to me…**

**Greg: the truth is out there babe, you’re just blind to it**

**Tom: You’re driving.**

**Greg: Obviously**

**Tom: Can’t believe our nice weekend away is to go monster hunting.**

**Tom: Sounds like a blast.**

**Tom: Is this our new life? We open a monster hunting biz on the side?**

**Greg: haha**

**Greg: So yes?**

**Tom: Wouldn’t miss it. See you for dinner.**

**Greg: love u**

**Tom: yeah yeah dipshit I love you too.**

“That Greg?” Sam asked, pulling out another pizza slice, “Tell him we haven’t found anybody yet.”

“Yeah it’s him. We’re going to go away for the weekend I think.”

Sam raised her eyebrows, “Something fun?”

Tom nodded, “Yeah. Something fun I think.”

He found that he was telling the truth. Honest to God, going fucking monster hunting with Greg sounded like fun. They were better prepared now. Smarter. Knew a little bit more about the other side of things. 

“Business or pleasure?”

“Maybe a little of both,” Tom nodded, “Now, we have work to do.”

Sam smiled, “You’re alright Tom. You know that. I thought you were kind of a corporate tight ass when you showed up. Are you gonna make it out here? Like are you gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, thinking about the apartment he and Greg shared, and the stupid diner dates where Greg was slowly ordering him the entire menu, and the dumbass car Greg drove now, and how much Mondale liked going on walks in the woods, and the way that the idea of a weekend camping and hunting in Montanna sounded nice, “I think I’m going to be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new content in this universe _will_ be coming, probably within the next week or so in a separate work! stay tuned if ur interested

**Author's Note:**

> it's unlikely these'll have daily updates, as most of this remains unwritten! but thank you in advance!


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